


Blood Gulch Crossover

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Glee season 3 timeframe, OUaT season 1 timeframe mundane AU, RWBY mundane AU, Scrubs probably about season 4?, Steven Universe (really just Steven), and special guests toward the end Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne, including characters from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:30:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Red vs. Blue...as rival fucking mini-marts? </p><p>Loosely follows the plot of the first 1.5 seasons but with all the painful bullshit of the rest of the series piled on top of it all plugged into the most frustratingly mundane setting I could think of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is my NaNo from last year. Out the other end of my chapter-by-chapter editing process. Enjoy!

Church was sick. Not actually sick but holy FUCKING shit he felt sick. He had been up for...he didn’t even know how many hours and today it was sitting wrong in his stomach. Sleep was for the weak anyway. Even when there was a funeral you couldn’t get to because you had to keep a store open for the asshole who was currently sleeping forever in his coffin. So it was a bad day, and one he was tackling on less than three hours of sleep. Which was the reason he was standing behind the counter instead of cleaning out the inside of the freezer. The empty one, the one he’d emptied, dragging its entire contents to the big walk in deep freeze in back, specifically to clean out. And now he was standing behind the counter instead so he didn’t fall asleep in the fucking freezer. He’d make Tucker clean it when he got here...if Tucker got here. Some days the asshole was an outright no call no show and the worst part was Church couldn’t just fire him. Because Tucker was, in name only, the manager here at Blood Gulch Blues since the real manager, Butch Flowers died. ...Church didn’t really miss the bastard. He was creepy and parental, not in the way that real parents were parental but in that way that the old guy at the gym who swatted your ass with a towel and asked you to call him daddy was parental. 

Standing was something of a loose term, really. Leaning was actually a better one. His hip was pressed into the counter hard enough that he was starting to worry about pinching a nerve. Or maybe hallucinating. He’d been pulling four to six hours of sleep a night since Flowers died, because the stupid store was open from six every morning until ten every night. Sixteen hour workdays, eight hours off work, and a chunk of that was transportation to and from home. Some nights, Church didn’t even go home. Not since he’d set up a cot in the back office to take naps during Tucker’s shift. ...and Tucker thought he was lazy for it. 

“Hey, man.” Tucker greeted.

Church startled. And looked up at the clock. Not quite ten yet. Actually, he had to do a double, then a triple take. Nine Twenty-Six in the morning. “Hey!” he greeted finally. “You’re early.” oh good. He sounded sane. How the fuck did he still do that? 

“Yeah. I uh...I got here as soon as I could.” Tucker sounded serious. Fuck. He totally knew what day it was. 

Church hesitated for a moment, then scoffed. “...okay. Whatever. Well...clock in and hit the empty freezer. It smells like something died in there.” 

Tucker rolled his eyes, but complied. “Yeah, yeah.” he went into the back room and Church let out a breath of relief. Shooting shit with Tucker was always an easy shortcut to a second wind. He couldn’t wait for the jerk to get his ass back out here and be comunicate with able. 

Of course, when Tucker first came back out, Church couldn’t actually look at him for a while. Mostly because the entire upper half of his body was in the freezer and trying to so much as look at him would basically involve staring at his ass. Which, okay, so it wasn’t like Tucker’s ass was...you know what? no. Church wasn’t even going to finish that thought. Tucker’s ass was not to be stared at so he was gonna let his employee/boss-in-name-only work in peace. He was going to take care of the register. 

Not that they had any customers at the moment. 

No sooner did Church have the thought then someone walked in. A random kid, probably cutting class from the high school. Or maybe he was old enough to have a free period. Not like he gave a fuck. He was tall, and Church stopped leaning on the counter and pulled himself to his full height. He fucking hated being around tall people. Church didn’t actually recognize the kid at first, but he seemed to know exactly what he was here for. Straight to the back, two bottles of green gatorade and right to the counter. 

Then he opened his mouth and Church remembered him. Because he had this thick and utterly incomprehensible irish accent. Church made a hopefully equally incomprehensible grunt and rang up the bottles. He was pretty sure those words were a somewhat timid “thank you.” and the Irish foreign exchange student paid cash. 

Church had a really horrifying moment where he thought he’d have to do math to make the correct change before he remembered that the point of sale machine did that for him. Which made him feel like an absolute fucking moron...but give him a break. He handed back the correct change and, after everything, Irish Kid was here less than thirty seconds before bolting back out the door for...somewhere.

Sometimes, Church wished the irish kid he barely remembered would hang out longer. He seemed like a good person. It was just...Church was too lazy to bother deciphering his accent. 

Flowers’ funeral must’ve done something to Tucker, because he restocked the freezer when he was done cleaning it without being asked. Then he got out the mop, put out the sign and got to work. Without a word. Church had to ask. “Dude...are you okay?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“It’s just...you were early. You’re...doing shit without being hounded for it. What gives?” Church demanded. 

Tucker stopped, and looked at him. “Dude. I’m not…” then he trailed off and shook his head. “You know what? Nevermind.” 

Church half wanted to press, but part of him knew what Tucker was going to say. So he let it go. Instead he snorted and asked “so, did something die in that freezer or what?” 

“No clue man but it was BAD. Holy shit.” Tucker sensed the subject change, or seemed to at any rate, and engaged while he worked. “Thanks for leaving that for me. Cockbite.”  
“Thought you might enjoy that.” Church retorted sarcastically. Tucker snorted and fell into mopping.Church wasn’t pleased with the silence that followed, so he snapped “Hey, did you order more of the fancy french bullshit in the pre-ground?” 

“Huh?” Tucker asked.

“Coffee. The ground...french...whatever. Did you order more?” 

“...no?” Tucker responded. 

“Yeah. So...you want Mr. Gold to kill us. Awesome. I’m gonna go do our orders.” That hadn’t gone as planned. But he was cranky. Cranky from lack of sleep. Cranky from missing the funeral of the man who’d given him a shit job and then died...just so he could continue to work at that same shit job. 

Church didn’t actually do the orders. He walked directly to his cot, tipped over on it, and promptly passed the fuck out. He knew it happened promptly, because the next thing he knew Tucker’s hand was on his arm. Shaking. And squeezing. Way harder than necessary. “What the HELL, Tucker?” 

“Uh, it’s my lunchbreak? Also. The weird kid is here again.” 

“Weird…” Church mumbled, scrubbing at his face with his hand and sitting up. He didn’t totally know what Tucker was saying but he pulled himself out of bed and said “take your lunch” before wandering, groggily, out into the front of the store.

The weird kid, it turned out, was the little boy that came in just about every day about this time. Sometimes he was later, after school. He must be here on his lunch break today. He looked up from his standard position, staring intently into the donut case and greeted warmly “Hi Mr. Church!” before turning back to the case with a deeply contemplative “hmmm…” 

Church chuckled and settled in behind the counter, waiting for him. The boy had curly dark hair and wore a the same pink t-shirt with a big yellow star in the middle every single day. He was a reliable part of Church’s life, one of the best parts too. The kid was genuinely considerate and friendly...and no matter how long he stared into that case he was always going to end up pulling out a glazed raspberry jelly filled donut. Someday, Church had decided, he was going to not stock the glazed raspberry jelly filled. Just to see what happened. Today was not that day though, and just as Tucker was getting back from his break, the little boy came up to the counter with a happy “how is your day?” 

“Can’t complain.” Church responded reflexively. The truth was he could complain, it wasn’t like there was anyone to fire him for it anymore. In fact, the truth was Church could stop showing up to work altogether. Hell, he sure as fuck didn’t have to be covering all three daily shifts. He could complain and cuss and neglect his duties and let this store burn. He had no idea why he was running himself into the ground for the place. More then that, there was no way he would say a word of that to the bright-eyed little kid whose name he wasn’t totally sure of but thought might be like Chris or Zach or Steven or something. He rang up the donut and waited while the boy counted out exact change in dimes and pennies. Then he took his donut, waved happily, and left. 

The wait was long enough that Tucker was coming back from his lunch break by the time the kid left and Church was half smiling. “Yeah…” Tucker commented. “That kid is fucking weird.”

“What do you mean?” Church asked, turning to him.

“I mean he comes in every fucking day, stares at the donuts for like...half an hour, pays in fucking pennies, and always gets the same one.” 

“Dimes.” Church corrected.

“What?” Tucker demanded. 

“Weird kid pays in dimes and pennies. Dammit, now I’m calling him that too.” Church responded. Tucker laughed and Church shook his head. 

“It’s Because he always buys the same fucking donut. Seriously. He stares at the case for half an hour...and walks out with the same fucking donut.” 

“Maybe he’s just trying to work up the courage to make a different choice someday.” Church suggested. 

“I think he’s weird, not pathetic.” Tucker responded.

Church turned his head. “You think being afraid of change is pathetic? ...for an eight year old?” 

“Eight?” Tucker echoed “C’mon, the kid’s gotta be at least twelve.” 

“I’m pretty sure he walks over from the elementary school.” Church observed.

“Fine, ten then.” Tucker relented. “The point is, he’s not exactly a baby. And a different donut? Not exactly earth-shattering.” 

“Yeah, okay, it’s weird.” Church admitted. “and...yeah...he’s kinda a weird kid. He’s nice though.” 

Tucker chuckled “Hey...maybe someday we should just...not stock that kind. See what he does.” 

Church chuckled. “Okay. First of all, you’re horrible.” he stated flatly. Then he said “and yes, I was thinking the exact same thing.” 

Tucker chuckled a little bit and shook his head, and both of them resumed work. 

\-----

Dexter Grif hated working closing shift at...whatever the name of his shitty mini-mart was. It was a little more bearable when midday shift was being covered by...not his boss. Like today. So wandering into the store pretty much at two O’clock when his shift started and found himself under the frustrated glare of Dick Simmons. He ignored the glare, easy enough. Simmons was a little wisp of a man that was easy to ignore even though he towered over Grif by almost half a foot. Grif clocked in and busied himself pretending to work in the easiest way available to pretend to work. Organizing stuff on the shelves and making them look pretty. Just the ones at chest height so he didn’t have to bend or anything. He didn’t actually give a shit. 

Simmons stopped glaring at him after a few minutes and Grif felt himself relax into the almost actually companionable silence they shared. Simmons was a decent guy...even if he was a kiss ass and general nuisance. When he wasn’t being the boss’ lapdog, Grif liked him well enough. Which is why after his third pass of the top dry good shelves he looked over at Simmons and asked “Worst Superpower, go.” 

“Seriously?” Simmons deadpanned. 

“Yeah.” Grif answered sarcastically “I just didn’t find the conversation we were already having that engaging.” 

“You didn’t even ask me what we needed to get done today. You just started zoning.” Simmons argued. 

Grif sighed heavily. “Can we not? Get anything done I mean. I’m beat, I really am. And neither of us actually give a shit about this place…” Simmons made a startled noise and Grif just smirked because the poor ginger looked like he was about to vault over the counter and cover Grif’s mouth if he didn’t shut up. “So why would we bother?” Grif pressed.

“You can’t talk like that in front of customers!” Simmons hissed.

“What customers?!” Grif demanded, gesturing wildly to the empty shop. As if on cue, a ten-year old boy followed by a blond woman in a red leather jacket who would be totally hot if she hadn’t just completely ruined Grif’s entire point with her mere presence entered the store. Grif glared at them for a beat, neither of them noticed, and as he turned away he muttered “I think I have a candidate for worst superpower. You can tell the future, but only for dumb stuff.” He’d repeat it out loud later when he and Simmons were properly alone.  
Otherwise known as when Simmons wasn’t going into that artificially kind “Welcome to Blood Red Blood Gulch, let me know if ether of us can help you find anything.” voice he had that made Grif want to tear his throat out sometimes.

The kid started with “She’ll NEVER look for us in here.” and Grif crouched to zone lower shelves. ...okay, and to eavesdrop. Because this sounded good. 

“I can see why.” the woman muttered, and Grif barely held back a snort because he was sure Simmons could hear that too and could already imagine the smoke coming out of his ears. Alright, sure, so the blond lady was kinda rude. Not that surprising. No one gave a shit about people who worked in dumps like this. Literally no one. She was probably the nicest person in the world, but she’d never care that Simmons got his surprisingly delicate feelings hurt. Or that as amused as Grif was by the whole thing that response did sit poorly in his gut. 

“They actually have some pretty good hot food.” The kid defended, and Grif was surprised. Someone was defending their cooking? “I mean...it’s all really bad for you, but it’s delicious.” And there it was. Smart kid though. Grif snuck a peek, they looked related. He turned his attention back to the lower shelves, making all the canned goods face forwards. 

...why the fuck did they carry so many different kinds of beans? 

“You sure this is the best place for us to be spending time, kid?” the woman said, in that same tone. Grif could sympathize. He really could. The name of this stupid fucking store wasn’t even clear. And anything that had the word Blood in its name more than twice, even in a cruddy little town actually literally named Blood Gluch? Sketch. One hundred and ten percent sketch. So Grif sympathized. Moreso when the woman asked “How do you even know this place?” 

“I get corn dogs here sometimes.” the kid commented. “Or chips. But chips are usually cheaper at the grocery store.” 

Ouch. Hit him right in the markup. They were a fucking mini mart. Or convenience store. Or whatever the fuck you wanted to call the place. What did you expect, the place to be cheap? You pay for the fact that it’s right on your corner. Which was actually pretty dumb because no, this dump wasn’t actually on anyone’s corner it was a little bit out of the way. Worse, the rival store? Same markup on most things, same hot food selection for the most part although rumor had it worse quality, same fridges, freezers, shitty sodas and energy drinks and half-assed excuses for meal preparation items...was literally just down the alley. Actually, more like connected by an alley. A fence separated the alley from a back street where the delivery trucks would usually pull past one store to make trips to the other. It was cramped and crowded and maybe the stores were technically on different streets...but that didn’t mean Grif didn’t have to look at those fucking regularly named blue assholes every time he wanted a smoke break. 

Meanwhile his store couldn’t be called something cool like Blood Gulch Blues. NO, nope. Grif got stuck in a place literally called Blood Red Blood Gulch. As if Grif weren’t sensing a theme already, the sign on the window actually disagreed with the sign on the door and called the place Blood Gulch Blood Red. And then just to top it off a few months ago their manager had made a brand new sign to hang OVER the door, it was a giant eyesore, literally, made Grif’s eyes sore to look at. And it had Blood Red written in ridiculous halloween font on either side of the more traditional town logo that simply red Blood Gulch. 

So almost everyone called the place Blood Red Blood Gulch Blood Red. And Grif had no idea why anyone ever shopped here. 

“Mom NEVER shops here.” the kid said, and Grif had to silently applaud his timing. Regardless how inconvenient it had been for him earlier. Oh hey. Now his knees were cramping. Grif stood and bit back a groan as the kid continues “she doesn’t even like corner stores and when she does use one? It’s the one a block down over on A street.” 

“Isn’t there an alley that runs between here and A street?” the woman asked, wandering into Grif’s aisle. She was decently tall and Grif looked just long enough to classify her in his head as soft butch before moving swiftly out of the aisle to behind the counter.

Simmons was waiting there, and ended up commenting quietly “this isn’t good…” 

Grif was confused for a flash, but then understood Simmons’ point. A grown woman hanging out in secret with a ten year old boy, explicitly hiding from his mother? ...and they called the mini mart sketchy. Or they’d implied it clearly enough. And that behavior? Super sketchy. “Yeah...you think we should call someone?” 

“Are you kidding?!” Simmons shrieked. Grif flailed slightly, waving his hands in a downward motion indicating for Simmons to speak much quieter. Simmons got the message and spoke in a hissed stage whisper. “No one can /ever/ know the mayor’s son shops here!” 

The Mayor’s Son? Mayor Mills? Had a kid who was wandering around town with some grown blonde? Simmons’ face wasn’t usually the most colorful, in fact, he was the kind of pale that looked like he would burn to a crisp if he so much as touched proper sunlight. As the sinking feeling of being in way over his head began settling into the pit of Grif’s stomach, he overheard something that made everything, at once, completely better, and worse. 

The conversation between the Mills kid and the new blonde lady had persisted while Simmons had shared his quiet meltdown with Grif. Then he heard her quiet voice say “I gave up my parental rights to you, Henry. Legally...I don’t have a leg to stand on.” and the situation became a lot less sketch, a lot more sad and a lot more terrifying. Mayor Mills had something of a legendary temper, rivaled only by Mr. Gold...and maybe their boss here at Blood Red. This situation was a disaster waiting to happen. A disaster on the scale of something like...the store getting its liquor license revoked, and that was on the tame end of things. 

“So what was it that needed to get done today?” Grif asked Simmons, voice pitching higher than normal as he faked nonchalance through sudden panic. 

“Cleaning the bathrooms?” Simmons answered.

A beat, and then nearly in unison “dibs!”

“dibs! fuck!.” 

Grif had never been so excited to clean a bathroom in his life. Especially since he could just put the closed for cleaning sign out and lean against the wall to rest for a while, then finish the actual work in ten minutes before anyone would give a shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover Characters appearing in this Chapter -   
> Rory from Glee  
> Steven from Steven Universe  
> Emma and Henry from Once Upon a Time


	2. Chapter 2

It was pretty unfair, when he thought about it. Leonard L. Church Jr. was young, early twenties...but he felt like an old man. The cot had done a number on his back. What little sleep he was getting wasn’t doing much good because his body either entirely missed that he was having it and he woke more tired than he’d gone to bed...or the nightmares would hit. That was it, he was subsisting; On shitty energy drinks, shittier coffee, and the shittiest excuses for sleep of all. 

He actually fucking limped back to the counter after he finally placed all the orders to renew what they needed for the shelves. Because the last half hour before that had been stocking Arizonas, and the hour before that had been pulling expired lunchables. They really should stock fewer lunchables, because they ended up throwing out half of them. No one eats lunchables anymore. Especially not the kind with the real bread that just fucking goes soggy in the box, or worse, grows mold. But Church didn’t actually know how to make edits to the official order forms, so he was powerless to even so much as change quantity. Yes, it was tempting to just start taking half of them home with him and eating them himself but even that small risk of getting caught kept him at least decently close to the straight and narrow. 

Church was able to pick out the fact that this customer was a college kid from the next town over without really even looking too closely at him. Just his entire body language screamed dumbass college kid. He was built like he was there on a football scholarship or something too, big, dumb, dressed halfway decent and too young to have even a gopher job in one of the nice offices at the little strip downtown. College kids were only ever here for pre-made stuff, so Church leaned to check the sandwiches in the deli case, paused because his back regretted it, and settled back into waiting behind the counter. 

Then the boy surprised him. Turned a thousand-watt, dumbass grin on him and said “Hi!” and offered a giant, meaty hand and introduced “I’m Michael J. Caboose, and I was wondering if you’re hiring?” A heavenly chorus of fucking angels may as well have gone off in the back of Church’s head. HIRING. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it. Probably because he didn’t know how to set it up. Talking to anyone at the corporate office was a royal pain in the ass and Church could never figure out how to do it. He wasn’t even sure the guys at corporate actually knew that Flowers was dead. Church must have just stared silently at him for a long time because the kid ended up saying “um...is this a bad time? I could come back.” 

“No!” Church practically snapped “No, Caboose, was it?” 

“Uh...yeah.” Caboose responded, sounding more than a little confused.

“Right. Listen. C’mere.” he moved away from the register, set the ‘ring bell for service’ sign out on the counter and pulled Caboose back into the office by the shoulder. It was about halfway through the store that it registered how much taller than him the kid was. He was totally going to resent that if he hired him. On the bright side, so would Tucker. Church had forgotten how messy the back office was, and moved to tidy a few things as he hurried to the far side of the single work desk, and settled into the office chair. Caboose got the old folding chair on the side closer to the door. He sat without comment and Church was relieved to realize there was no trace of judgement in his expression, only a sense of deep confusion. “Okay. I couldn’t say anything out there because we have a shitton of security footage but, yes, /technically/ we’re hiring. But only very technically. Under the table paid a day after everyone else in cash technically. Can you handle that?” 

Caboose’s eyes widened, but instead of starting to look for the exit he made eye contact with Church. And held eye contact. And said “I could.” very simply, as if it were any other interview question. Then, without missing a beat, he asked “Do you want to see my resume?” 

“Lay it on me.” Church said, smacking the stack of paperwork on the desk in front of him.

Caboose hesitated, eyes flicking around the office in confusion again, and Church wondered for a beat exactly what he was getting himself into with this kid. Then he slid a backpack from one shoulder, a plain manila folder from the backpack, and a single sheet of freshly printed, crisp, white paper from the folder. Church took the paper and looked at it, and tried not to laugh. Sure enough, college student, Communications Major, Football Scholarship. The boy had no work experience to speak of. Just high school diploma, a couple scholarships that sounded half decent...that one was even for academics, he thought, he wasn’t actually sure. He’d sound too dumb if he asked too. The rest of the resume was padded with bullshit, meaningless skills like hardworking and team player and friendly. Fucking FRIENDLY was actually on this poor boy’s resume. 

It was compassion as much as desperation that led Church to say “are mornings or nights better for you?” 

“Uh...this term?” Caboose tried to clarify.

Church hesitated, he could always reshuffle next term. He nodded.

“Nights, all my classes are in the morning.” he answered. 

That flash of compassion turned into outright pity. Church was about to turn this poor bastard’s life into a living hell. But the light at the end of the tunnel, the idea of actually getting to go home at a decent hour every day? Sleep some, get back on his feet? It was worth it. “Can you be here for an eight hour shift starting at 2PM, seven days a week?” 

“Seven?!” Caboose echoed in surprise. “No days off at all?” 

“It’s a small store, and right now we have two employees. I haven’t had a day off in over a year.” 

Caboose’s eyes went wide, and something clicked in them. Church didn’t know what it was, but something changed in the way the kid was looking at him. Like it snapped into place or something. Church hoped that the kid hadn’t just fallen in love with him or something, that would get super awkward. The determination in Caboose’s voice when he said “I can handle it.” didn’t help that impression. Although the hesitation came back in force with the question “...um...what...does the job...entail…?” 

“Pretty basic stuff.” Church responded. “Cleaning, making sure nothing on the shelf has expired. I can teach you how to run the point of sale machine. The job is only minimum wage, and, like I said, it’ll be cash under the table.” 

“That’s okay.” Caboose agreed.

“You’re sure?” Church asked for confirmation.

“Yes.” Caboose insisted. And there was that look again. Church wasn’t sure he liked the look of it but there wasn’t time to deal with that now. Although Church did have to deal with Caboose pausing to add “and I just wanted to say that this might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

“Buddy, I’m not doing this to be nice. I’m doing this because I’ve been working sixteen hour days for the last month and I’m going to kill myself if I have to keep it up.” Church deadpanned.

Caboose meeped. He actually made a sound that sounded like a fucking mouse and Church rolled his eyes and couldn’t get out of his seat fast enough. He stood up and moved to the side of the desk, folding and pocketing the resume and then asking “when can you start?” 

“When do you need me?” Caboose asked.

“Tomorrow? Be here at 1:30.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Caboose enthused, climbing out of his chair, and then tripping over it, and landing flat on his face. 

Church winced. “You okay there, Caboose?” 

“Yes.” Caboose answered, sitting up. Then standing, smoothly. In a motion so fast that Church was left with the distinct impression he had just hired a great dane. Or maybe an over excited labrador. No. No definitely an oversized mutt. Caboose extended that giant hand again and said “Thank you again, Mr. Church. Thank you so much!”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Church smacked the kids arm as he shook his hand, in a friendly but still somewhat aggressive way. “I’ll show you out and...see you tomorrow?” 

“See you tomorrow!” Caboose enthused, and Church walked back from him from the office and into the store proper. Church returned to the register and Caboose rushed out the front door with a spring in his step. Finding jobs wasn’t normally that easy, not in this market. Church knew that this had been a hugely lucky break for them both. He also had a really horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that they were both going to regret this. 

 

\-----

Sometimes, Grif just wished that he would get assigned a regular shift. He’d even take closing if that meant a regular shift. But no, every Wednesday, their boss, nobody knew his actual name, he just insisted everyone call him Sarge, would gather them all around at two in the afternoon, when the shift changed over, and draw shift assignments for the next week out of a hat. 

He didn’t have the hat with him when Grif walked in late. Instead, his hands were clasped behind his back and he stood, feet apart, at ease in soldier posture. “You’re late, Grif!” Sarge snapped. 

“Or am I?” Grif challenged

“Don’t play mind games with me, son. If I say you’re late, then you’re late.” Sarge was clearly not in the mood for it today. Not that he ever was. At least he was still instead of looming. “Now stand at attention the both of you, I have an announcement.”

Simmons jumped, snapping his feet together, spine going rigid and blurting a “yes, sir!” 

Grif sighed and pulled himself to his full height, rolling his shoulders back. Simmons turned his head and actually met Grifs eyes for a change which resulted in a quiet mouthing of “I hate you.” Grif smirked and shrugged slightly, then turned to face Sarge. 

“So what’s this big announcement?” 

“The announcement is that Corporate has hired on a new employee!” Sarge announced. Grif startled. “Now, as we have a good system here for trading off shifts, the only way to handle this was to cut everyone’s hours. Starting next week, we’ll each be working six hour shifts, except for closing, which will be a seven hour shift. And there will be four shifts a day. And since I’m the manager, I’m going to close on the new schedule. So. Since I want both of you to get to know the new guy, Simmons, you open next week. Grif? You get third shift. Third shift is closing now but next week third shift won’t be closing next week. Since we’ll have four shifts. Comprende?” 

“What?!” Simmons demanded

“You questioning me, Simmons?”

“No sir, brilliant way of handling corporate bungling, Sir.” Simmons relented quickly, and Grif groaned. For a split second, he’d actually expected his co-worker to grow some balls. He should have known it was impossible. Losing two hours a day, a whole extra person being paid so no hope of a raise...Grif felt his stomach falling out from under him. He hated work with a kind of passion usually reserved for...well… he wasn’t sure what normal people hated the way he hated work. The only other thing that came close to him was certain very specific varieties of being a jackass. The only reason he worked was money. And this? This was going to eat into his paycheck without really doing much to relieve the pressure from his life proper. Those fourteen hours every week were his fucking electric bill, and if he had to lose it he’d rather it be, you know, two days off every week instead of fucking...two hours off every day? But no, Sarge was an idiot. 

“Hey.” he protested. “wouldn’t it be better to, you know, use the new guy to give us all weekends? I know I’m sick of a seven day workweek.” he blurted.

“You’re getting your days shorter, what more do you want Grif?” Sarge snapped. 

“I didn’t even think seven day a week jobs were legal anymore.” Grif complained. 

“Grif, we’re a small business. We can’t afford to not work overtime.” Simmons prompted. 

“Yeah, except now that’s getting cut, isn’t it? All of it. Every fucking penny.” 

“...and here I almost thought you were complaining because you enjoyed long days.” Sarge mocked. Or at least Grif thought he was mocking, it was a moment later that Grif realized with utter horror that there was legitimately a chance he’d meant that with total seriousness. “I’m disappointed in you. Now, I know you both miss the hat, but it’ll be back next Wednesday. For now, consider your schedules complete.” and Sarge stormed out the door.

Grif turned to looked at Simmons, and Simmons looked back at Grif. Eyes wide as the frustration seeped through both of them. Finally, Grif blurted “kiss ass.” and stormed off to either do his job or take a nap, whichever he stumbled across the opportunity for first. 

“Lazy Jerk.” Simmons called after him. 

Unwilling to let someone literally named Dick have the last word, Grif called over his shoulder “fuck you!” and walked into the back office, slamming the door behind him. 

\-----

“So let me get this straight.” Tucker said, voice overstretching the way it did when he was pissed. “You hired a new kid. Under the table. Without talking to me. ...and expect me to just...twist my entire life around to accommodate this?” 

“If moving your schedule ahead four hours is twisting your entire life around, then yes.” Church argued. 

“We open at six AM, Church.” Tucker argued right back. “I don’t even know what six AM is, much less think I can get to work by then. Dude, you’ve gotta work with me. I barely have a life as is. I work seven days a week and if I want to be awake at work I need to be down by midnight which has basically killed my social life. You can’t pick up chicks before midnight!” 

“Tucker...you know normally you’d have my full sympathy. Seriously. But don’t start with me, I am NOT in the mood for it.” 

“Why can’t you just hire someone to take the morning shift and give me nights?” Tucker whined. 

“Because the college kid who walked in and said he’d take cash under the table said he can only work nights. And that’s for school and not to pick up chicks.” 

“Chicks are way more important than school!” 

Church sighed. “You know what? I’m not even going to argue with that. But misery loves company so...fuck all of you.” 

“I fucking hate you, Church.” Tucker grumbled.

“Feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Church half-shouted.

They fell silent when the door opened and a customer walked in. Or rather, customers. Specifically, the nauseatingly cute gay couple from the local high school that sent Tucker running to the back room with their mere presence because otherwise he was going to say something horrible and one of them, probably the one who sounded like a girl, would tear him a new one. 

Church breathed an actual sigh of relief when he saw them. The one with significantly too much hair gel said “We’re glad to be here too.” mostly jokingly. The one who sounded, and looked, was he seriously wearing a broach? like a girl, rolled his eyes. Hairgel corrected “Or, you know. Glad for the chocolate muffin three packs anyway.” 

Girly boy went for the cans of arizona iced tea that Church had stocked the previous day and hairgel grabbed the muffins. They met at the counter and negotiated from inside each other’s personal space and ended up paying together. Church rang them up and thanked them for coming and they left together. Church watched them go, and found himself hoping from deep in his gut that what he saw in the new kids eyes hadn’t been a gay thing. Not that Church had any problems with gay people, but there was no way he was with it enough to not be a total jackass to a guy who tried to hit on him. 

...Nevermind. Caboose was gonna be in his life in a capacity other than customer. Church was gonna end up being a jackass to him one way or the other. It would just be sink or swim for the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters Appearing in this Chapter-  
> Kurt and Blaine from Glee


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of one of the earliest incidents from canon.  
> The first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The additional tags for this story are already busy enough I didn't want to crowd them and there's not nearly enough of it to warrant using the ship tag but...  
> This chapter and one or two others have some pretty strong flashes of Donut/Caboose.

Franklin Delano Donut had just moved to the sleepy little burg that for some reason was named Blood Gulch. It was a pretty terrifying name for such a quiet little community. It was one of those places where everybody knew everybody not because it was tight knit, but because everyone lived practically on top of everyone else. After moving into the little shoebox that was his apartment, Donut was getting a crash course in how Disney soundtracks sounded as background accompaniment to smooth jazz when speed metal was playing somewhere in the distance. Mostly because of the family of four that lived on the other side of his kitchen wall and the UPS guy who lived across the hall from him. 

He really didn’t know how that family of four did it, living in such a tiny place. Donut could hardly manage it himself. The bathroom was so small there wasn’t even room to change his mind, the bedroom was cramped just with his twin sized mattress, and the living room...well… he’d come with a full set of furniture and already was making the soul-rending decision of which pieces to put up on craigslist and pray he didn’t get murdered for. It was a sacrifice he had to make if he wanted room to walk through his apartment, much less get through morning Yoga.

Despite the cramped quarters, he couldn’t help but feel blessed. A nine to three part time job in the first five days in a new city? He’d had to pull some strings, he knew. But his overly religious uncle had been just a little too happy to get him out of the house and knew a guy who knew a guy and well here he was. Really on his own for the very first time and taking extra care to start his day with that extra bit of pep. 

When he got to work the storefront...frankly, looked more cramped than his home. It was a long deep breath later that Donut was able to bring himself to walk inside and greet “Hello? I’m Franklin, Franklin Donut, the new employee.” There was a line of customers at least a dozen deep waiting to be helped, and it seemed clear there was no one there to service them. That was just...poor customer service. Not exactly a glowing first impression.

“Donut?” a voice called from the open doorway behind the counter. A tall, lanky ginger poked his head out and said “Your name is seriously Donut?” 

“Franklin Delano Donut. Yes. And yours?” He introduced, hoping to bypass the usual tormenting on the subject of his family name that had happened to him ever since he’d left the little community familiar with his family farm. 

“...whatever, newbie. Listen up. Our boss hates us. Do you know how to make breakfast sandwiches?” 

“Why, yes I do.” Donut said, startled.

“Fantastic.” the man said. “Get back here, and start prepping components. I can assemble a few and get the first few customers in line. How many people did you see out there?” 

“At least a dozen?” Donut answered sheepishly.

“Fuck, fucking...asshole, I am going to kill that man, Donut. If he ever asks, I said He’s a brilliant leader and the best manager I could hope to ask for...but between you and me? I am going to kill him.”

Donut felt utterly overwhelmed and even more clueless. “...why?” 

“Because when I got to work this morning to open? I discovered that my shift? Begins WHEN we open, so I get zero time to prep. And as if that weren’t bad enough the FIRST day this goes into effect, Sarge decides that Sunday is a good day to do all-day breakfast sandwiches for a dollar apeice.” 

“Oh boy that’s a great deal!” Donut responded enthusiastically.

“You want to know why it’s such a great deal?” the red head grumbled “It’s because we’re taking a loss on every single one of these. We just have to hope enough of them buy things BESIDES a sandwich to make up the cost.” 

Donut went quiet, then asked softly “how can I help?” 

“I told you!” the ginger snapped. “Cook the egg, brown the sausage, prep components! I have customers to help!” 

And so began the busiest day of Franklin Delano Donut’s life. Now, make no mistake, he grew up on a farm and was no stranger to hard work. But that work was normally done at a slow and steady pace. He’d worked in a restaurant, his uncle’s restaurant to be exact, as a server. During rush it was all he could do to get everything to the right tables and keep all the customers happy. That was still nothing compared to this frantic mess.

Over the course of the next three hours, Donut managed to pick up that his coworker was named Dick Simmons and typically went by Simmons, which explained the weird fixation on his last name. Apparently everyone was on a last name basis with everyone else around here. No real surprise given that their manager was apparently named Sarge. Donut worked as fast as he could for three hours solid until “Where’s the rest of the sausage?” 

“What rest of the sausage?” Simmons demanded dryly.

“Don’t do this to me, I’m just trying to help.”Donut pleaded. Simmons had a truly extraordinarily short temper. “I just didn’t see any more in the freezer, I’m browning the last bag of sausage patties.” 

“No.” Simmons said. “No there has to be more, that’s our supply for the entire week. We just got that sausage on Friday.” 

“I’ll check again…” Donut checked the freezer, “nothing. Are you sure there isn’t a deep freeze we can pull from?” 

“Oh the DEEP freeze! Of course! Yes! Just pull sausage out of the DEEP freeze! We’ll be FINE!” 

Donut was running for the back exit before he realized there was a problem. He was only beginning to consider the possibility that there was a problem when he emerged into the alley between Blood Red Blood Gulch Blood Red and the other store across the way, Blood Gulch Blues, over on A street. Had that been sarcasm? Simmons seemed like the deeply sarcastic sort, really he did. It was just...Donut had trouble with sarcasm.

He also had trouble thinking when the smell of cigarette smoke was so heavy in the air. 

Coughing, he looked around and spotted a man, closer to his own height then Simmons’, give or take an inch, and about three shades darker. Heavy and relaxed and wearing an orange shirt with a blood red name tag pinned through it. “Hey!” he greeted warmly. “I’m the new guy, Franklin Donut. Where’s the deep freeze?” 

“Your name is seriously Donut?” 

Point for point, syllable for syllable, he spoke in exactly the same tone as the ginger, but his voice was lower. And unmistakably sarcastic. Practically dripping with sarcasm. Donut almost flinched. “Yeah...can we not make that a thing?” 

“Whatever you say. If there’s a deep freeze it’s probably over there.” he gestured, vaguely, across the alley. 

Donut didn’t think, he just wanted away from the smoke, so he bolted directly down the alley, into the opposite back door and found, to his instant left, exactly what he was looking for, a walk-in freezer. 

Of course, the walk-in freezer was occupied. 

Of course, the walk in freezer was occupied by the closest thing Franklin Delano Donut had ever encountered to a young greek god. 

He turned and blinked.  
And Donut froze and blinked.  
And cold air washed over everything. 

The exchange was short. “Sausage patties?” 

The man, tall, taller then Simmons, muscles for days and a face just shy of Hollywood standards, handed him a very large crate. Very large and very heavy. Beautiful and strong? Who was this guy? “Here you go!” he said cheerfully. 

Donut turned and rushed back, confidant that less than halfway through his first day at a brand new job, he had just saved the day. 

\----

“Want me to beat the shit out of him?” 

“No.” Church dismissed initially, then he sighed. “Maybe...no. He’s an idiot but he honestly didn’t know any better. Rookie mistake.” 

“That’s a big-ass rookie mistake, Church. He gave away our shit! To the fucking enemy!” 

Church was honestly pretty surprised how worked up Tucker was getting over this. He seriously looked like he meant it about beating the shit out of Caboose. “Tucker...it...it was just a case of sausage patties. We’ll just go heavy on the bacon this week, it’s fine.” 

“Just go heavy on the bacon…” Tucker muttered, then sighed. “Okay, fine. Still. They should pay for that.” 

Church sighed. “Yeah...I was planning to go talk to them about it.” he said, a bit dejectedly. 

Tucker raised an eyebrow. “Talk to them?” he asked, incredulously. Church wasn’t sure which direction that incredulousness went. Or why. So he just gestured vaguely, and openly. “You mean confront them.” Tucker added.

“Sure. Yeah. Confront them. How dare you steal our shit, pay us back for it, blah blah blah.” Church agreed, gathering himself up and straightening. 

“Uh-huh. Of course you will.” Tucker answered sarcastically, and Church felt tension pull his shoulders back as he resisted the temptation to slug the other man across the face. No way he could justify assault in the workplace though. Not even when Tucker really stuck his foot in it and mocked “I’ll make sure your funeral is nice.” even though that made the impulse even worse. 

Church wracked his brain for several beats for exactly what he could say that would carry the same weight as his fist. He gave up finally and just blurt out “You wish, asshole. You wouldn’t even go to my funeral.” 

Tucker snorted. “Got that right.” he pushed and Church turned and stormed over out the front door, deciding he needed the walk around the block before he could have a rational conversation with anyone. And he hoped to all hell this would be a rational conversation. 

The problem is that a walk around the block in Blood Gulch never actually helped as much as walks around the block theoretically should. Mostly because Blood Gulch sucked, and they worked in a particularly shitty part of Blood Gulch. So he actually felt worse by the time he got all the way around to the front door of… what the hell was this store even called? Blood Red Blood Gulch or Blood Gulch Blood Red? Blood Red Blood Gulch technically made more sense, Church would guess. Maybe. It wasn’t like it even made sense as a name. It should be called Blood Red and forget the town name, or if they had to Blood Gulch Red, or something like that. But no store should have a name six words long, especially not when half of those words were literally just blood. Especially not a food store. It suggested some very unhygienic things. 

Listing reasons why this store made him uncomfortable did not make walking into it an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Church finally took a long, deep breath and walked in the front door. There were two men behind the counter, one he recognized. The fat hawaiian one. The other one, mister tall, dark, and slim cut, had to be the newbie that had tricked Caboose. Mostly because he doubted Caboose would describe the other guy that Church saw around all the time as ‘kinda pretty, a little bit.’. Which had done nothing for his worry about feelings making things complicated. But whatever. They both looked up when he walked in, and the fat one said “oh shit.” which meant he was recognized, and that they knew exactly what had happened.

“Yeah.” Church said, standing sturdy, pulling himself to his full height. “Oh shit is right.” Hey, that actually came out decently badass. 

The actually attractive one made a whimpering noise and sank backwards. The one Church knew but couldn’t place his name in a million years made a frustrated sound that Church found himself able to empathize with in a way he hadn’t wanted to be able to empathize with any of these assholes. Regret for that empathy tripled when that frustrated grin turned into a smirk and he stepped forward, leaning on the counter a little. “Yeah? So you admit it?” 

Church felt thrown for a loop by the total non sequitur. He blinked a couple times and said “you’re the only one who should be admitting to anything there buddy.” 

“What? You mean you weren’t agreeing with me when I called you shit?” the man in orange taunted.

It fell together for Church and he had to admit, it was pretty good, if a bit of a stretch. He rolled his eyes and fired back “The shit, maybe. But we both know what I’m here for.” 

“Do we?” Grif said, and Church could feel a sarcasm deeper and bigger than anything he and Tucker had ever managed to throw at each other hit him right in the face. “Do we really?” 

“Stop fucking playing games. Your newbie tricked my newbie into giving you a case of sausage patt…” 

“Woah there.” Church was cut off suddenly as the other man pushed off the counter and held up both hands defensively. “What your newbie gave my newbie is none of either of our business. I don’t want to know why you care about that shit. Like I get if it happened on work time but...” 

“Huh? What? No!” Church protested. “No, fuck, no...what...what the fuck, dude?” he pushed, and he could see the grin on the other man's’ face and could feel himself losing the argument. “Look. You guys stole food from us, and I want you to pay us back.” 

“Who did what now?” the response came so fast even the other red’s head seemed to spin. Whoever this asshole was, he was way more clever than Church had ever given him credit for. 

“You FUCKING assholes stole food from us!” Church shouted, moving forward, slamming his hands hard onto the counter. 

This asshole. This FUCKING clever asshole. Full on soccer mom-ed the other guy, seatbelt arm shield push him back reflex. Church suddenly knew why this store was called blood red, because that was the color he was seeing behind his eyes. Specifically orange asshole’s blood red. “Yeah?” he challenged, matching Church’s volume, aggressive, defensive. A tone that made Church feel like the bad guy. “You can prove that? Some kind of security footage or something?” 

But the truth was, there was no security camera between the back door and the freezer. The only cameras in the place were to protect the cash register and maybe stop shoplifters. No one expected theft straight from the freezer. Especially from anyone who wasn’t an employee. ...but there was no way he could know that. “...yes.” Church answered. “Yes we do. Can. Wait. Yes. I have proof.” 

There was silence. Then, the most insulting reaction of all, laughter. “Oh...man...you are /not/ a good liar. Holy shit.” The man leaned in, inches from Church “Look, if you could prove shit, you wouldn’t be here, you’d have called the cops. So. Beat it, jackass. I’ll even be nice and let you use the back door.” The other guy did a double take, and several beats passed. Then the man talking turned suddenly and shrieked “Jesus Christ, Donut not REMOTELY what I meant!” 

“That’s it.” Church said, pulling away, hoping he was able to hide the color that was flooding into his face. “I’m outta here.” and he turned and walked right back out the front door and stormed back down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- No Crossover Characters appear in this Chapter  
> UPS Guy from Scrubs (Name forgotten) referenced


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something bad happens so I can shoehorn in a classic quote from canon...and further the plot.   
> Also Tex.

“...do you think he’ll get the sausages back?” Caboose asked hesitantly, even outright fearfully.

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I think we’ll be lucky to not get him back in a body bag.” 

Caboose startled, actually gasped out loud. “You...actually think they will kill him?” 

“Man you’re slow. No, I don’t think they’re actually going to kill him. I just don’t think he’s actually going to accomplish anything either.” 

“...maybe I should go to help him?” Caboose suggested. 

“Yeah…” Tucker agreed sarcastically. “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you go help Church out, Caboose?” 

Caboose didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm, he was out the door like a shot. Tucker moved into the doorway just in time to see him climb into his car. A beat later Church turned the corner into the driveway up toward the front of the store. 

What Tucker expected to see was for Caboose to get out of the car and be wildly and a little inappropriately enthusiastic to see Church alive and for Church to be hilariously furious and probably embarrassed about the whole thing. Then he’d refuse to talk about it because he’d epically failed in getting so much as a reimbursement. 

That is not what Tucker saw.

Tucker didn’t know what happened inside Caboose’s oversized black truck, but the outside of said oversized black truck lurched backwards suddenly, and it must’ve been a hell of a distance at that. 

Tucker didn’t know exactly what happened behind Caboose’s oversized truck, just that Church flew out from behind it and into the street where he hit pavement with an audible smack. Tucker winced, Caboose’s truck stopped.

Distantly, Tucker heard Caboose shouting Church’s name and saw the boy get out of the truck to run into the street for Church. His head was buzzing with disbelief. He felt like he was going to throw up. No way. That had not just happened. Caboose was shouting...he was gonna do something stupid. Tucker could feel it in his bones. “Dude!” he found himself shouting. He was surprised he had a voice but tried not to let on. “Get inside and call 911!” 

Caboose started running for the door, and Tucker got out of his way and jogged a bit half-heartedly toward the street. He stopped on the sidewalk.

Church was lying motionless on the pavement.

No. NO way. 

“Church?” Tucker called. “Hey! Asshole!” he couldn’t move either, frozen on the sidewalk. There was no response 

A car stopped, and Tucker was relieved. At least Church wasn’t gonna get run over again, if he was even alive still. Then he heard Caboose’s voice behind him “I called 911, they’re on their way…is Church...” 

Tucker turned suddenly and snapped “you fucking killed him. You...team killing fucktard!” 

He didn’t actually know if Church was alive or dead. For a split second, he didn’t care. It was worth it to watch all of the color drain out of Caboose’s face. To have him respond almost completely limply to being shoulder-checked when Tucker stormed past back into the store.

Then he was inside and he cared again.

So he slammed the door shut behind him and convinced himself he didn’t.

\-----

“Hi. Um. You don’t know me. My name is Michael Caboose, I’m. Um. A friend of Church’s? ...he might be the best friend I’ve ever had actually. Anyway, he’s hurt now. I don’t know how bad. But. The ambulance driver didn’t put a sheet on him, so...Tucker was lying about him being dead. That was mean of him. Tucker also works here. Everyone who works here just uses their last names...here is Blood Gulch Blues. Anyway...Church is in the hospital and...Tucker and I can’t keep the store open alone. So...please help us? Again...this is...Michael J. Caboose, a friend of Church’s, at Blood Gulch Blues. Church is hurt and that’s...not really anybody’s fault. Maybe a little bit Tucker’s. But we need help. Please?” 

\----

Sacred Heart Hospital at Sidewinder was not exactly the best hospital in the world. It was the closest medical facility to Blood Gulch though. So if Church had been picked up from Blood Gulch Blues in an Ambulance, that meant he was here. 

Ten bucks saw the janitor scurrying off to create a distraction on the far end of the hospital. That man...was a weirdo of the highest order. He earned his keep though, and it wasn’t long before every doctor, nurse, and orderly went screaming off to the far end of the hospital. Leaving the entire patient area completely empty. Except, of course, for the patients. 

Heavy footfalls across the open floor past the nurses station, eying the patients. All of them, one by one. Moving at a hard clip to get there fast, she finally spotted him.

Leonard Church Jr. hadn’t changed a bit in years. Same slight but sturdy build that barely took up half of his hospital bed. Same dark hair that managed to be the shortest shaggy haircut in the entire world, and when he looked up the same beautiful eyes. “Oh no.” he said, voice hoarse. “I died and went straight to hell, didn’t I? You’re here for my soul.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Tex replied, striding quickly into his room and pulling the curtain closed again as this side of the hospital began to re-fill with doctors, nurses, and orderlies. 

“What did you do, pull a fire alarm?” 

Well, he couldn’t be that bad off if he was taking an attitude like that. She felt a sigh of relief pull at the corners of her mouth and she pushed it down to snark back “Couldn’t risk them evacuating you. Now, who the fuck is Michael Caboose?” 

Church groaned. “I’m in the goddamn hospital, and you’re here to ask me about Caboose?” 

“He called corporate.” Tex pushed. “Said you were hurt and that he and Tucker were alone. We don’t have anyone by that name on file.” 

“We?” Church slurred. “Holy fuck. Holy /fuck/...you...you’re from corporate?” 

Tex lifted her hands and shrugged. So he didn’t know, that was almost surprising. “It’s a living.” 

Church sank deeper into his bed and grumbled “...I’m going to fucking kill you.” he looked at her. “Butch Flowers actually died over a month ago. Where were you then?” 

“Sorry if hearing you’re in trouble brings me in a little bit faster than other problems.” Tex snapped.

Church fell silent. He was out like a light a matter of seconds later. He’d squeezed the button for his morphine drip sometime in the last few seconds. ...only Church would straight up drug himself to avoid a conversation with her. Tex sighed and settled into the seat at his bedside, for now. She’d leave sooner or later. Maybe even before he woke up. For now though...it was just good to see him alive. 

\----

“Hey, did you hear that Blood Gulch Blues lost another employee?” Simmons asked like the little gossip he was late in the week. 

“Sorry, am I supposed to care?” Grif responded, then he tossed in “...oh, gross, Simmons, this lunchmeat expired last week.” 

“What?! Why the fuck haven’t you been pulling dates all week?” Simmons demanded.

“Why haven’t you been pulling dates?” Grif demanded in return

“I have been! How did that get back there?” 

Grif snorted and tossed it in the expired box at his feet. “Probably from this shoulder-height refrigerator shelf not getting /zoned/ properly. Yeah. You keep the lazy guy from doing his lazy job and look at the consequences.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Grif.” Simmons growled. Grif chuckled. Silence fell, nice and companionable for several beats before Simmons added “anyway, yeah, apparently one of them is in the hospital this time.” 

“How do you KNOW all this?” Grif demanded, turning to half face Simmons, and turning away quickly so Simmons wouldn’t see how much this had hit him. How embarassed he was right now. How his stomach had twisted in fear because he remembered hearing sirens the night that asshole Bluetard had been here. He remembered being worried because the sirens had stopped over on A street. He remembered telling Donut it was nothing. He remembered it being harder and harder to convince himself it was nothing when asian guy and his powdered sugar high not girlfriend crashed through the place because they wanted to get food while they waited for, where else? A street to clear from ‘the accident’. He remembered convincing himself it wasn’t someone from the other store. 

“Donut told me.” Of fucking course he did.

“You take your gossip from a guy named Donut?” Grif challenged.

“And then it held up when I checked it out for myself.” Simmons pressed his explanation and Grif sighed and crouched to check the dates from lower in this refrigerator. Then a stack of lunchables fell over and the excuse to release the line of expletives that had been building behind his tongue was almost appreciated. Simmons scolding fell into the background, it was literally impossible to care. Too much wasn’t okay. He slammed the refrigerator door and turned around, half expecting to see a family with small children had wandered in while he was going on. For once, Grif was lucky. A deep sigh and Grif looked up at Simmons. 

“When did it happen?” He already knew the answer.

“Sunday night.” Simmons answered. “That day Sarge put the muffins up for sale at a dollar each.” 

Grif sighed heavily. “...Sarge is a moron.” he said finally and moved to the next refrigerator. It wasn’t his fault the jackass had taken the front door instead of the back and gotten himself hit by a car on the way to his store. Grif had offered the back door, not even sarcastically. So no one could even imagine blaming Grif for it. So why did he feel like he had some big secret all of the sudden? “Do we know if the guy’s gonna be okay at least?” 

“How the fuck should I know?” Simmons commented.

“I don’t know. You’re the one that nosed around.” Grif defended. “Maybe you actually found out something useful. Like without anyone to run the store, maybe the Blues are actually shutting down?” 

“Oooohhhh, wouldn’t that be nice?” Simmons fantasized. “A whole, fresh batch of customers...I wonder if Sarge would let me bring back the free pot of coffee at opening to draw them in for a little while.” 

“...didn’t you complain about taking a loss on the sandwiches?” 

“No one just drinks coffee, Grif. They always buy a donut, or a breakfast burrito, or god forbid a fucking breakfast sandwich. Besides, one pot is hardly anything. You go through more then that without paying for it every day anyway.”

Simmons wasn’t wrong, but Grif didn’t want to draw attention to the fact, so he put his head down and continued slowly on his task. Scanning for anything that was due to go bad. ...or anything close enough to it that was particularly delicious looking that he could toss for now and eat later before he threw out the rest. ...or one or two of those for home. Those little snacks had a habit of disappearing from the refrigerator so Grif really hated spending his own hard-earned money on them. Eventually he was finished and he carried the spoiled items to the back...and moved what he’d lied about or what was on the brink to his bag. 

Yes. He was a thief. No, he didn’t care. Working in a place like this had to have some kind of advantage and besides that, he’d just had his hours shit on. He fucking deserved it. 

\-----

 

Wow. Blood Gulch: Blue really was a fucking dump. It looked like shit from the outside and didn’t get any better on the inside ether. Despite the somewhat large man actively cleaning as Tex walked in, it didn’t look clean at all. 

The slender black guy behind the counter leered at her “hey, baby, welcome to Blood Gulch Blues.” 

Tex stared at him for a long moment, and he seemed to deflate a little, sinking back from the counter. “Yeah...That’s the kind of customer service that’ll get you sued.” she stated, taking long strides toward the back of the mart. The tall man - wait, boy, probably the kid from the voicemail, got out of her way like a gentleman. She opened a refrigeration unit and was back to the counter just as quickly where she dropped the six pack of beer she’d grabbed and stated “or just punched in the face.”

The blank stare was a prize to be savored, especially as it faded too fast. “Yeah, let’s see some ID, bitch.” he antagonized. 

Tex rolled her eyes, she couldn’t help it. Physically, she was unable to not. So she tossed two cards on the table, one was her actual driver's license. The other was her office ID from Mother of Invention HQ. This asshole just took the info from her driver’s license and rang her up, then went to hand her cards back to her before stopping and asking “what’s this?” 

“It’s my work ID, it means I’m your boss.” she reached across the counter and snagged the managers tag directly off of his shirt and pinned it to hers. “Consider yourself demoted, and lucky to still have a job at all.” she turned to the kid who was cleaning “Caboose, right?” 

He tried to snap to attention, tripped over something, spilled water everywhere, stepped over it with giant long legs, and snapped to attention again. “Yes, Ma’am?”

Tex looked at the guy behind the counter, thinking about the voicemail reminded her that his name was probably Tucker. “Staff meeting right after you clean that up.” 

“What? NO way! Caboose just…” 

Tex whirled on him “Do I look like I give a fuck?” She demanded sharply, glaring. 

Tucker went to clean up. Tex went around behind the counter, finished paying for her beer and stashed it behind the counter then gestured for Caboose to walk over to her. He did, obviously terrified. “Listen up kid.” she stated. “I got your message, and I’m here to help. Now let's all get our asses in gear until Church is out of the hospital and figure this place out, alright? Can either of you do inventory?” 

She was met with silence. From both of them. So she sighed. “Whatever, I’ll just do it myself.” and started back toward the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Crossover Characters appear in this Chapter  
> The Janitor from Scrubs is Referenced   
> Ren and Nora from RWBY are Referenced


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another canon event is adapted, and Grif cares just a little bit more then he would like.

When Church came back to work, Tex put him on closing shift. She also officially hired Caboose so they worked side-by-side the entire day, her intention was to stay through his recovery and work opening so Tucker could have his regular daytime shift back.

“Little ironic to have me recover by sticking me with the guy who almost killed me.” Church observed to her as he started his shift while she prepared to leave the three of them alone for the afternoon. 

“Consider it a little karma for the fact that helping you sticks me with that jackass four hours a day.” Tex commented. Church legitimately couldn’t tell if she was joking or actually complaining.

“Hey, he’s not so bad when you get to know him.” Church defended his friend, voice low. He’d never live it down if Tucker overheard him. 

Tex snorted. Definitely really complaining then. “You say that because you don’t have boobs.” 

“Well, that’s not what you said the last time we fought.” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he stared at a too amused for his good Tex in utter horror for several long beats that she let drag on mercilessly. Finally he broke his own awkward silence with “...I can’t believe I reminded you of that.” 

“...do you even remember anything about that fight besides that I said you had manboobs?” Tex said in a tone that was somehow both neutral and enraged. Church blinked at her, and sighed in defeat. “Didn’t think so.” she snapped, a bit more harshly before turning on her heel and storming out of the mini mart. 

“In my defense!” he called after her as she was on her way out the door “it was almost five years ago!” 

She didn't stop. She just walked away. 

Church shifted and winced. Goddamn back brace. 

\-----

This was the temper that Tex was in when she stormed past the fat hawaiian and skinny ginger on the porch of Blood Gulch: Red. It was almost made better by the inane shouting passing between them. 

“If you’re going to smoke, do it in back!” The ginger shrieked. “this is disgusting!” 

“There’s an ashtray up here for a reason, Simmons.” the hawaiian argued, sensibly, but at a pitch that carried no confidence in the sensibility of his argument.

“Yeah, for our customers!”

“Not my fault you’re late. When I clock off, I become a customer.” 

“You’re clocked off already?” 

“I told you, you’re late.” 

“I’m not late! You clocked off early you dumbass!” 

“Not what my watch says.” 

She passed them, and saw him. 

It’d taken a while to get the whole story out of Caboose. He’d been afraid of going to jail, and then he’d been afraid someone else would go to jail. He’d ended up rolling over on this kid though, confessing how he just walked in and demanded sausages. It was nothing but a case of nasty new hire confusion. It’d fall apart in a court of law...which was why she was taking revenge a little more personal. 

Besides, this place was a terrifying mass of safety code violations. She looked around for a moment and found herself being met with a wide smile and a friendly greeting. He was a harmless kid, but this...was a chain reaction that was a lot bigger then him at this point. Tex wandered through the store, carefully leaving little things not quite right. Unprotected corners, let that machine drip. Newbie had gone into the back, and was cooking. So Tex grabbed a six pack and proceeded to start slamming on the bell for service. 

He got her through the checkout with ease, and she left.

The other two employees were still bickering like an old married couple on the porch when she left. In fact, the hawaiian had just lit another cigarette explicitly to spite his on-the-clock friend. Tex decided to create a little distraction and snatched it directly from his hand, taking a long drag as she walked away and started home.

The almost comedic crash, followed by a high-pitched scream more feminine than anything even Tex could produce from inside could be heard over their shouts of protest and both of them ran inside with alarm. 

\-----

There’d been a lot of blood when Grif and Simmons had gotten inside. Donut was screaming and there was no way to make him stop. Somewhere in the back of Grif’s mind he remembered learning that head wounds bleed a lot more than necessary, and so they look a lot worse than they are. The problem though was that that wasn’t just a head wound. Donut had managed to spill oil on himself in his fall, hot oil, as well. So the screaming was entirely merited. Grif didn’t know what to do for hot oil burns, but he did know what to do for bleeding head wounds. 

Simmons ran directly to Donut. Grif made a detour to the paper towels. “Grif, what the hell are you doing?!” Simmons demanded. 

Grif charged at Simmons, who got out of the way. Grif tore into the paper towels and started applying pressure. Donut stopped screaming, which was a relief...for about two seconds until Grif realized that meant he was unconscious. Then Grif started swearing. He pressed the paper towel down harder, wrapped it totally around his head, oil and everything and prayed he wasn’t making the burns worse under his breath. Then he grabbed Donut and carried him out to his car. 

“Shouldn’t I be calling an ambulance?” Simmons called after Grif.

“Simmons, we’re at the shit end of Blood Gulch. I’d be at the hospital before the ambulance would even get here.” he loaded Donut into the back of his car and got in the front before taking off at full speed. Because if he got pulled over? The man with the head wound in the back seat would just get him a fucking police escort. 

\----

Hospitals were suppose to suck, and in that sense hospitals sucked. So Grif felt kinda shitty for almost enjoying being here for a few minutes. Yeah...it was a place people only went when something was really, horribly wrong. But it was kept clean and nice and everyone was here because they spent their lives actually working to fix it when things went wrong like that for people. Okay, so that was a super fucking romanticized view and Grif knew everyone here probably hated their lives as much as he did, and not just the patients. 

He didn’t know why he stayed. It was Sacred Heart. He brought his sister here for fucks sake, he trusted the place. Why hadn’t he just ditched when the ER people had taken Donut and made sure he was stabilized? He should have. Now Donut had been admitted and he was waiting in the room with him for the results of his scans and tests. 

The two doctors entered together, shoulder to shoulder. Literally right up in each other’s personal space. They reminded Grif a little of the guys over at Blue, except the black guy wore a color he actually looked good in, green, and was significantly bigger than his little blue buddy. They both looked serious, but deliberately serious. Like they’d just shared a really inappropriate joke before walking in the room and were still trying not to laugh at it. So Grif took a stab. “Yes, his name’s Donut. Get it out of your system and tell me what that bitch did to him.” 

Lil Blue dropped his head and turned away. Probably to hide the mixture of laughter and terror that Grif was pretty sure he’d inflicted by pulling himself to his full height in the middle of that sentence. The bigger guy just hid behind the chart for a minute and Grif almost lost patience with the pair of them. Finally, the doctor turned back and, actually inching closer to his friend asked “wait someone did this to him?”. Unbelievably, the big black guy in green actually moved in protectively as well. That was when Grif decided if they weren’t a couple, they should be. 

“Someone walked into the store, walked back out, stole my cigarette, and ten seconds later this happened. Yeah. I think she did this to him.” Grif reported. 

They looked at each other for several beats. Then they looked at him. It was lil blue who spoke. “Your friend has second degree burns over most of the left side of his face. Now those will heal with time, the same with the lacerations near his temple. Good job stopping the bleeding, by the way.” The look from the bigger guy had turned into a bit of a glare. So the white doctor looked up at him after a moment with a private-voice demand of “what?” 

“You stole all the good news.” the black man grumped, yet made no move out of the white guy’s personal space. Oh yeah. Total couple. Which made the presence of a wedding ring on the big guy’s hand and its absence on the smaller guy’s hand a little bit scandalous. Simmons was going to love hearing this story. 

Except for one little thing. “There’s bad news?” Grif interjected.

The doctor in green sighed heavily. “One of those lacerations went deep. He has damage to his inferior rectus muscle.” 

Grif knew better. He did. But the thing they’d actually been laughing about, not Donut’s name, It was the name of the muscle he’d injured. He wasn’t sure where that was or what it did, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't what it sounded like. Still, they seemed like good guys. If a little immature. Grif gave them what they wanted “How the fuck did a head injury damage his ass?” 

Both doctors giggled for a few seconds like schoolgirls, then cleared their throats. It was lil blue who explained “No...no, that...that’s an eye muscle. We’re concerned about nerve damage to the inferior branch of his Oculomotor nerve. Um. Basically about him...moving...his left eye. Or...even raising the eyelid.” 

“Under normal circumstances.” the doctor in green interrupted. “I’d recommend surgery. It’s a simple enough procedure. Repair the muscle damage. Reduce the risk of nerve damage to his eye.” 

“But…” lil blue sounded more serious than Grif had heard him so far, and that got his attention. ‘He’s still unconscious from the initial blow and the shock, not to mention the burns, which would increase the risk of infection.” 

“...so what are you going to do?” Grif asked, a little worried. 

“Well, that’s why we’re talking to you.” 

Grif snorted, then shook his head. “No...no I think you’re confused. I barely know the guy. We just work together and only barely that. I mean, I kinda hate him on principle since corporate cut my hours just to hire him. Not to mention he’s annoying as fuck. If he hadn’t been creating a health hazard I’d have probably let him bleed out on the floor.” 

The doctors looked at each other confused again, then the green one asked “but...you drove him all the way here from Blood Gulch.” 

“Well. I couldn’t let him bleed out in my car.” Grif answered.

A look of realization dawned on lil Blue’s face and he tugged at his friend’s elbow. “Dr. Turk, a word?” They left together, and Grif was pretty sure he could guess what they were saying about him. Either nothing good or nothing accurate. Except then they wandered off. and Grif was left alone and confused for several beats. 

That changed when a nurse walked in. She was about the same color as Grif, but her features were clearly hispanic. Curly hair and classically beautiful with a smile that...okay.yeah. wow. He did a reflexive check and...wedding ring. Damn. He blinked because he didn’t have that reaction, that particular reflex, very often any more. Right out of high school it had been default. Now? It’d been… and then he realized exactly what it had been. Why they’d sent her in here. 

“Hi!” she greeted warmly. “I’m Carla.” she offered her hand.

“Dexter Grif.” he answered, shaking her hand and making eye contact. It had been a move to keep him from looking at her boobs which, not like boobs were that great in scrubs anyway, right? Maybe he should have looked at them then because eye contact with married nurse Carla was a bad idea. Because she was...kinda fucking gorgeous. He managed a mostly flippant “the unconscious one is Frank Donut. It’s okay, you can laugh. I don’t think he can hear you.” 

“mhmmm.” she said, smile turning amused. Grif had a dumbass, masculine, testosterone fueled impulse to find her husband and punch him. Then when she asked “and you’re his friend?” in a voice that was just a little bit too innocent, he saw right through this Nurse Carla. They’d sent her in here to take him apart. To get him to take responsibility for Donut. 

Grif groaned. “Please don’t play games with me.” he said. “The gay doctors already told you I hate the little bastard. You’re in here to convince me I don’t so I’ll take the decision about surgery off of your hands or sign a consent form or something like that.” She straightened and moved away from him, surprised and visibly insulted. Grif explained “my kid sister spends a lot of time in free clinics. I’ve learned the tricks and...I don’t want to deal with any of it.” 

The smile vanished and she gave him a dark, hard look. “Then why didn’t you just drop him at the front door and go home?” Grif fell silent, because he didn’t know. Or he did, but he’d never say, not even to himself. He should have. Maybe he was just being lazy, but that couldn’t possibly explain it. Maybe it was because part of him found hospitals relaxing. Something about a bunch of people who’d spent six plus years proving they weren’t total morons all working their asses off to save lives. Or maybe it was just the smell. Sanitized. No amount of just not having it in you to clean could turn this place into a pigsty. A few beats of silence and Carla commented “That’s what I thought. Listen, I know you don’t know him well. But we haven’t been able to contact any of Mr. Donut’s family. He’s new to the area. His emergency contact numbers are all long distance and I’m pretty sure his Uncle actually hung up on me when I mentioned his name. Now, I could spend the next...sixteen hours hunting one of them down...but every minute we wait on a decision increases the risk of nerve damage.”

Grif took a deep breath and let it out again. “Can’t you just ask him? Wake him up with...I don’t know, smelling salts or something?” he asked.

“I know you’re scared…” 

“I’m not…” Grif tried to protest, then he sighed “fine. Yeah. Fucking terrified. That’s not actually anything new. That’s life trying to support yourself and an idiot teenager at minimum wage. So...I really don’t need this shit, Carla. I’m sorry.” he sighed “You caught me, I’m a decent fucking human being and so I brought him here and stayed with him. But I can’t make a decision that could kill him. Or fuck up his vision. If it goes wrong I’ll always wonder if I did it because I secretly hate him. Because that part wasn’t a lie.” 

She looked at him. That sweet, compassionate look. The one he knew was practiced to fall just shy of pity. The one he knew was calculated to make him feel like he mattered. He took a moment to remind himself first that she was married and second that she’d forget him the minute Donut was out of here. So when she said “I’ll talk to the doctors about waking Mr. Donut up.” Grif was surprised. Because she’d genuinely listened to him. She turned to leave and Grif felt an impulse, this one based much more on simple, fundamental jealousy of other people having better things than you, to find Nurse Carla’s husband and punch him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover Characters appearing in this chapter -   
> JD, Turk, and Carla from Scrubs.
> 
> Poll: Who is GLAD that Grif never put together that Dr. Turk is Nurse Carla's husband and who is DISAPPOINTED that Grif never put together that Dr. Turk is Nurse Carla's husband?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif has friends (who...aren't from RT properties), Church has nightmares, and Donut surprises everyone in my farthest reach for a canon parallel to date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a line in this chapter that was an absolute bitch to edit down into Grif's voice. That's what took me so long to update.  
> Brownie points if you can spot the line, because I'm 90% sure I still didn't get it right.  
> Edit: Adding it here as well as the bottom to avoid confusion as you read, the Ruby in this chapter is from OUaT, not RWBY.

In the next few days, things went back to normal at Blood Red Blood Gulch Blood Red. Hours went back to normal while they waited for Donut to get out of the hospital. Grif was weirdly quiet since Donut had been hurt and he wouldn’t talk about that which...Simmons supposed was a good thing. Still. He’d rather have an awkward emotional heart to heart about injured co workers they both hated then the inane bullshit Grif would actually talk about when he actually decided to talk. Grif was an idiot and had some of the dumbest ideas on what was fun to talk about. 

Which was what made it so fucking weird that Grif had actual friends. Customers who knew him and actually liked him as a person despite having some sort of history with him or another. Even weirder, sometimes it was a girl. And not a normal girl, it was a stupidly hot girl that Simmons just had to drop his gaze and pretend wasn’t there. She had dark hair and blue eyes and way too much eyeliner and Simmons wasn’t going to be able to manage two words at her. Which was okay, because there was no way she’d try to talk to him anyway.

Then Grif talked to her, and not politely ether. “Fuck. no.” he greeted. “What the fuck are you doing in this dump, You crazy bitch.” It was a question, technically, but Grif pronounced it like a statement and Simmons was beginning to wonder if something in the hospital had given Grif a death wish because all he wanted suddenly was to hide under the counter. 

The girl stopped, directly in front of Simmons and he tried to pretend her boobs were not directly in his eyeline. He failed. She pulled several packages of beef jerky from just below the front counter and asked “where else am I supposed to get my jerky treats, Dexter?” in a voice that was teasing and pouty and a little bit sexy.

“Uh. My house.” Grif answered, in what was either the most aggressive sounding pickup line ever or...something Simmons couldn’t understand at all.

When the girl laughed like music and said “C’mon, Dex. We know there’s never been a meat treat that’s last five minutes through your front door.” and Grif turned the approximate color of the sign out front, 

He walked toward her commenting “shut the fuck up, Ruby.” and opened his arms. Then she stepped forward and hugged him. Really more she just fell against him, there was enough of Grif that she kind of bounced on his soft stomach and he had to pin her there and they both laughed. Simmons would’ve expected them to kiss if not for the fact that she was miles out of Grif’s league. Instead they pulled away from each other and Grif asked “So you’re just on a jerky run?” 

The girl gave Grif what Simmons assumed was a serious look. Simmons clutched the counter so his knees wouldn’t go out. “Actually...I just heard my favorite regular’s big brother had a rough week and I wanted to check in.” 

Grif looked at her, equally seriously and kept his arms around her and pulled back and Simmons stared at him for a moment. When he said “I’m fine. Seriously.” in a tone that...was almost convincing. Simmons knew better, because he’d been watching Grif be really fucking weird all week. Weirdly, the chick seemed to know better too. And she just stared at him and then he said “Ruby...seriously. This wasn’t the most fucked up week of my life.” 

“It’d be almost impossible to match the worst day of your life, Grif.” she paused, then glanced over, of all things, at Simmons. Who gave some serious thought to just bolting to the back room. Then she swatted Grif’s shoulder and said “tell you what, we’ll talk after work, alright?” 

“It’s a deal.” Grif agreed, smiling. “If I stop at Grannys do I get some pie?” 

“Of course,” she reassured, pulling out of Grif’s arms. Grif didn’t even let his hands linger and Simmons ended up staring at him instead. 

Grif moved around behind the counter and said “I’ll get you on that.” and pushed Simmons out of the way to run checkout. Simmons just leaned against the back wall until Grif and the girl said their goodbyes. At which point Simmons demanded “what. The fuck. Was that?” 

 

Grif turned to Simmons in confusion. “That...was my friend Ruby? I’ve known her forever.” 

“That...was a ridiculously hot girl that you didn’t make a move on.” Simmons attempted to clarify.

Grif froze for a moment, then chuckled. “That...was a ridiculously hot girl that I have known for fucking ever?” 

“You mean you got friendzoned.” Simmons tried to understand. “...and you stuck around?” 

Grif sighed. “Yeah.” he said sarcastically. “I just looked at her and saw a great ass and too much eyeliner and decided I’d keep her in my life for no other reason than the slim chance I’ll eventually get laid. Seriously, fuck you, Simmons.” and then he stormed off into the office, leaving Simmons largely just confused behind the counter. 

\----  
Caboose wasn’t what Church would call great company. He was a decent employee though. Caboose probably worked harder than anyone this pathetic excuse for a store had ever seen. He just...needed a patient hand. Someone who could show him things more than once, supervise, and correct him when he needed it. Church had issues with patience. He had a feeling Caboose could do pretty well if he had someone patient help him out. ...but that ruled out literally everyone Church knew. Maybe Caboose would’ve flourished in this job if Flowers were still alive, but he never even would’ve gotten the job if Flowers were alive so catch-22. Church did the best he could but ended up yelling at Caboose more than once. Eventually he tapped out and went to the back room, took some of his painkiller and crashed out on his cot. 

Seeing Tex again triggered the fucking nightmares, but the drugs knocked him out hard enough he couldn’t place any details of them. Only that he woke with a strong hand on his arm and Caboose calling “Church!” a handful of times. And that he woke up with a genuine sense of panic and found himself clinging to Caboose’s arm as he was reassured “Church it’s okay, it’s me. It’s Caboose. It’s okay. I am not going to hurt you.” 

His sense of reality filtering in slowly but his breath lingering behind, Church joked harshly “little late for that, huh?” 

Caboose recoiled like he’d been struck and Church was too busy catching his breath to apologize. “It wasn’t my fault.” Caboose said suddenly, standing. Church didn’t respond, clearing half-formed images from his mind instead of existing in the current moment. After a few beats Caboose said “it’s closing time. I’m locking up. Get home safe, okay?” and then he was gone. 

...well. That went well. 

\----

Donut had opted for the surgery and survived good as new. Some nasty scars on his face though that Grif kept his mouth shut about. It’d be too easy to mock him for them. It would absolutely not be cool to mock him for them. Enough customers stared as it was, and Donut took it in stride with a smile. If Grif hadn’t personally seen the little jackass actually almost bleed out on the kitchen floor he’d half suspect he was dealing with some kind of happiness android. No rage over the accident, even when Grif explained he strongly suspected it wasn’t an accident after all. 

In fact, Donut was so fucking happy all the time, Grif kept considering trading shifts with the little bastard and sticking him with closing instead.. Closing shift was a nightmare. Eight hour shifts were one thing. Six hour shifts were even one thing...an annoying, jackass thing, but still one thing. Seven hours though? It was like Sarge deliberately gave Grif closing to piss him the hell off. Leaving him alone for more than half the night was great, getting rid of Donut early always felt good. Not having the responsibility to cook anything new was awesome. On the surface it looked like the best shift for him except for one problem.

...the mind-numbing boredom. The terrifying emptiness that clawed through his brain and set every paranoia he had on edge. The simple fact was Grif hated being alone unless he was asleep and would generally just rather get out of his own head. He wished he could get away with taking a nap. Or closing up early and going home and making sure that his sister wasn’t getting into any serious kind of trouble. Because if she were going to get herself killed? Or pregnant? These were the hours she would do it. So just in general Grif had never liked working close. 

Wednesday Grif came in to find the new schedule posted and discovered they were moving him to opening shift on Sunday...which was some kind of bullshit or another. Saturday he had to work until close and Sunday he had to come in for opening? It wasn’t the first time Sarge had pulled this on him, but Grif was pretty convinced it was deliberate when he did. Sarge fucking hated him, after all. 

It was Thursday, Donut announced he was taking his ten while the store was virtually empty. Grif didn’t object. He just stood there, silent and alone. It was like he’d left early, except without the crushing weight of actually being alone. Donuts breaks actually made Grif think the rest of the night alone would be manageable. Except then, instead of actually being out back for a while, Donut came back in and said “Grif?” in an odd tone of voice. “...come out to the back door please?” 

Donut sounded so damn pleasant most of the time Grif didn’t identify the cold, sharpness to his voice until he’d already followed him most of the way to the back door. Out back was the blond lady, muscular and curvy and pulling long drags from a cigarette. Grif recognized her instantly. Donut needed a moment to confirm. “Is that the bitch that tried to kill me?” he asked, tone still icy enough to send a chill through Grif..

“...yep.” Grif answered, shifting out of the doorway. Because if Donut was going to go out there and do something stupid that was actually not his business. He was done protecting the runt. But Donut didn’t do anything stupid. He simply turned on his heel and marched solidly inside, and picked up the store phone. 

...and called the fucking cops.

Grif almost panicked. Double-checked that everything in the store was alright and nothing cops would code for. He didn’t have anything illegal on hand, he hadn’t put anything in his bag to take home today. He still didn’t relax. 

The actual fucking Sheriff of Blood Gulch showed up. Leather jacket, badge, face full of scruff and pretentious accent all intact. He and Donut talked for a few minutes over on the front porch. Grif stayed inside, stomach churning. This wasn’t good. The stores were already fucking rivals...Donut was looking to blow this up into a full-fledged feud, and he was getting the cops involved. What was worse, Grif was pretty sure the sheriff shopped at Blood Gulch Blues. Pretty sure that was where he got breakfast a good chunk of mornings. Which was dumb because Blood Red had better hot foods, obviously. 

Okay, Grif was just...stress complaining. He ended up grabbing a sandwich out of the fridge and slipping into the back office with it, not caring that it was technically stealing to eat it down or that there was a cop right outside. He needed to calm the fuck down. And at least it was a fucking sandwich and not something drastically unhealthy like the candy he’d wanted. But snagging enough of that to be any help at all would’ve been way more noticeable.

Once he was suitably de-stressed, he walked out onto the porch and found Donut and the sheriff gone. Oh hey there panic old friend, thought you’d left already. Grif groaned and found himself doing the one thing he was seriously never suppose to do at work, he abandoned the mini mart and took off around the corner over to A street.

He didn’t see most of the exchange. He just saw the sheriff ushering the blond woman into the back seat of the police car, in handcuffs. He heard Donut shout “Have fun in jail, you filthy whore!” and bolted toward the dumb kid, grabbing him and yanking him back around the corner toward their own store. 

Nothing pissed Grif off more then Donut’s self-satisfied little fucking smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters appearing in this Chapter -  
> Ruby from OUaT  
> Graham from OUaT


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one more incident to parallel from season 1...  
> But it's time to introduce someone we all know from season 2.

Frank DuFrane had just found a nice, cheap place in Blood Gulch. When he’d lost his internship at Sacred Heart, he’d also lost his income. Which meant an apartment in Sidewinder just wasn’t feasible. The first place that so much as looked at him in Blood Gulch was a two-bedroom that approved him, pending finding someone to split the rent with. He was on a tight timetable, and was desperate. A lot of kids at the college in Sidewinder lived in Blood Gulch, it wasn’t like it was that bad of a commute. The simple fact was an unemployed ex doctor with a mountain of student debt living off a fast dwindling savings account did not a great roommate make. Add to that the fact that he managed to keep his head up and a cheerful outlook on life and well...people hated him. Or maybe it was just that he eventually broke against bullies. 

Dr. Cox was a bully and had no right to have so much authority at that hospital.   
But that was just Franks’ personal opinion which he had no right to force on other people much less the hospital itself.

As it was, no one from campus had responded to him. He was halfway through the term anyway. So, desperate, he took a little stack of flyers that he’d hand-cut take-one copies of his phone number and email address onto around to local businesses. Eventually he was making his way up to a little mini mart on A street. What was it called? Blood Gulch Blues. 

He walked in just in time to hear the unexpected “I couldn’t even understand a fucking word he said!” and recoiled in the doorway.

“Woah!” he scolded, earning glares from...all three? men, in the little mart. Hard glares...like, if looks could kill Frank would’ve just found himself the victim of murder three times over. It was maybe a little racist to say that all of them looked fully capable of murder because the pretty one was black and slender and okay so maybe he didn’t actually look totally harmless but. He had to take that into account for his reactions. The young one just looked dangerous in the way an attack dog looks dangerous. You’re sure they’d be a big fluffy puppy if they were just treated better but they’re currently starving and abused and angry and because of that you look like nothing so much as a giant chunk of meat to them. And the third man? ...well...he looked like nothing so much as the one holding the attack dog’s chain. Metaphorically speaking. Despite the murder eyes, Frank let his mouth go on “It’s ‘Blood Gulch Blues’, boys,” he said “Not F-Bomb Blues.” and was at least marginally aware he’d walked mouth-first into his own foot. Also metaphorically, of course.

“Have you…” the one who was clearly in charge stepped forward and Frank was able to see how the movement pained him a split second before he saw the actual heavy back brace the man was in. “Ever even been to Blood Gulch?” he asked. 

“Um…” the large one commented, glare fading a little bit. “I don’t think…” 

“Shut up, Caboose.” the one in charge, for he was very clearly in charge, snapped. “I don’t know where you think you are, buddy, but this town fucking sucks. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the shithole you just walked into is one of the few bright spots in the whole fucking town. The sheriff is Dutch or some shit and can’t tell the difference between assault and his own ass, much less get anyone to understand a word coming out of his fucking mouth. The nearest hospital is all the way out in goddamn Sidewinder and it’s a fucking TEACHING hospital. Which means I don’t trust anyone there as far as I can throw them. So. F-Bomb Blues it is. Or, as any rational human being would say, FUCKING Blues. So hey, thanks for the name update. Are you here to shop or to talk?” 

“...I was an intern at Sacred Heart.” Frank protested feebly. 

“Oh hey, awesome!” the sarcasm was practically tangible. “Hey, while you’re just standing around, Doc, wanna check out my broken ribs? Save me a drive?” 

“I…” he started to protest, pausing, expecting to be interrupted. Instead he was met by silent, expectant staring. “I’m not...technically...a doctor. Not really.” 

“I thought you said you interned at Sacred Heart?” the guy in charge demanded. “What, are they accepting non-doctor interns?” 

“No...I just…” he cleared his throat, concluding that he didn’t owe this probably insane man with a hair-trigger temper anything. “Look...I’m sorry if I offended you, somehow. My name is Frank DuFrane and I’m going through a bit of a hard time right now. I was wondering if I could put this ad in your window? I’m looking for a roommate.” 

The guy in charge sighed heavily. “Okay...one, no, you didn’t offend me. Two, I couldn't pronounce your name if I tried, so I’m going to call you Doc. Three, Talk to Tucker.” he gestured vaguely to the black guy. “He’s got the manager tags, even if he never does shit with them. Now...my painkillers just kicked in, so I”m gonna go take a nap in the back room before I go kill someone at the place across the alley.” and he limped off into the back room. 

The other two looked at each other for a moment, then at the man who was limping away until he disappeared, then back at each other, then at Frank, who opened his mouth to speak but the pair were already glaring at each other. 

“It’s okay, Doc.” The big one, Frank was pretty sure the guy in charge had called him Caboose? Weird name. “We’ll hang up your sign.” he nudged the black man hard in the back “won’t we, Tucker?” 

“How come I don’t get a word in edgewise?!” Tucker finally demanded. “Tex got arrested, that makes me the manager again.” 

“So can I hang my sign, Mr. Uh...Tucker?” 

“...are you even a customer here?” Tucker asked after a moment. Frank felt his spine give under him as he looked around frantically for anything he would even dream of buying. But virtually everything in here looked ether so pathetic or so unhealthy he couldn’t imagine putting it in his body. “Yeah...that’s what I thought. I’m not sure we can help you.” 

“But...I just moved to Blood Gulch…” he protested quietly. 

“Tell you what.” Tucker said after a moment. “Spend at least ten bucks here, right now, and I’ll hang your stupid sign.” 

Frank fell back a little bit. It was just one store, there were more of them. And everyone here was so abrasive that there was no way they had any kind of decent regular clientele. 

As if on cue, a literal child walked in. “Hi Mr. Tucker! Mr. Caboose.” the polite boy greeted, shifting dramatically to one side to edge past Frank without saying excuse me. Frank stared at the kid, surprised any child his age was so polite to people in this place, or that his parent allowed him somewhere where that kind of language was commonplace. Or that served this kind of junk! 

“...so not gonna deal with this right now…” Tucker said finally, and also disappeared into the back room. 

The child stopped directly in front of the donut case, because of course. Where else would a small child go in a place like this? Frank looked up at Caboose, who sighed. “Our windows aren’t very big, Doc.” 

“...My name is Frank.” 

“...Church calls you Doc.” he said, tone somewhere between straightforward statement of ineffable fact and apologetic. 

“We’re getting a lot of new people around here.” the kid commented. “You started a landslide Mr. Caboose.” 

“I guess I did, Steven.” Caboose answered seriously, then he dramatically repeated, “I guess I did.” The kid, Steven, giggled, and studied the donut case with deep consideration. Caboose turned his attention back to Frank. “But...it really isn’t fair to give window space to someone who isn’t a customer. So...I think Tucker’s deal was fair. If you spend five dollars, we’ll hand up your sign.” 

“...Tucker said ten…” Frank argued in confusion. 

The kid, Steven, gasped. “Mr. Caboose! Were you trying to help Doc out by LYING to Mr. Tucker?” 

Caboose looked away, guiltily. “...maybe.” he confessed. Then “but. Sometimes. It’s okay to lie to people. Especially people like Tucker.” 

“That’s not a very good lesson to be teaching a child.” Frank argued reflexively.

“It’s okay, Doc. I don’t agree anyway.” Steven promised. Then “I never get anything but donuts, but if you want I can help you spend ten dollars here. I know my way around the store.” he grinned up at Frank proudly. “I’m what they call a regular.” 

 

Frank was genuinely surprised. How did such a young boy get to be a regular in a place where literally the first sentence he’d heard coming in the door contained multiple bad words? He was so startled that the silence became awkward. “I don’t think he’s asking you to buy him things, Doc.” Caboose commented. “I think he just wants to show you around. I could do that too. What kinds of things do you like? We have a lot of things here. Most of them are good to eat. Also. If there isn’t anything you like. I could make something. I’m...not allowed to use the deep fryer though. So if you want something fried I can’t do that.” 

“I...wouldn’t...want anything fried.” Frank responded, grudgingly resigning himself to the new and slightly painful nickname and trying to pretend he didn’t have a sinking feeling it would follow him out the door and all over his new town. “I don’t know what I like, really...usually healthy foods.” 

“Say no more!” Steven wandered toward the back of the store, the opposite corner from where Tucker and...did they keep calling him Church? had disappeared. There, in one of the refrigerated sections, were...sports drinks? And below that… “see? Protein shakes! Those are healthy, right?” 

It was about the closest match they could find. And they sold in four packs for six dollars. Whats more they didn’t look half bad. A few more calories than Doc generally liked, oh no it had even caught up in his internal narrative! But he’d just lost a really amazing job and was busy hunting for a roommate and a new job and generally just under a lot of stress so maybe a slightly higher caloric intake would actually be a good thing. “Wow. You...you have a real gift, Steven, was it?”

“Aww...thank you, Doc!” Steven grinned as Doc, Frank, whoever the heck he was going to be in this new town, reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two four packs and went back to the counter. 

“These actually look pretty good.” he admitted to Caboose.

“I wouldn’t know.” Caboose answered, then he considered. “Although, they are chocolate. Most chocolate is pretty good, isn’t it?” 

Sensing an opening for a proper conversation for once, he couldn’t help but ask, “do you prefer dark chocolate, or milk chocolate?” Caboose considered that question for a long moment. Then several more moments. Then a few moments longer then that. He stopped entirely in the process of ringing Frank up, stopped long enough that Church actually limped his way out of the back room. Eventually Caboose admitted “I don’t. Know. The difference.” 

“Well.” Frank smiled at him. “If these are any good, I just might have to teach you the difference when I come back.” 

Caboose smiled back, a sweet, childlike smile and Frank felt actually decently welcomed. “I’d like that, Doc.” 

“Hey, Doc.” Church called, approaching. 

“HI, Mr. Church!” Steven called from in front of the donuts happily. 

“Hey there kid. Listen, Doc…” he paused and looked at him, then “Actually...you know what? No. I was gonna come out here and apologize but...no. I don’t like that you walked in and started in on me for talking like that. You don’t know what was happening before you came in...so acting all cheerful and like a kindergarten teacher...it was uncalled for. Now so was my response but...basically...Fuck you, Doc.” 

Steven looked up startled and Frank was suddenly pissed. “Mr. Church, with all due respect and I’m starting to think that’s not all that much...there’s a little boy who is a regular at your store. Now I don’t know where you’re from that you think that sort of language is appropriate for anyone in the service industry to be using in a public place but...it’s just..not.” 

“You know what? Get the hell out of my store.” 

“I’m a customer now, you can’t just kick me out. And I spent twelve dollars, so according to Tucker and Caboose you’ll hang my sign.” 

“Great. Hand over the sign and get out.”

Frank complied, moving toward the door. To his surprise, Steven appeared at his side. “I’ll go with you, Doc. You have more posters to hang, right? I can help.” 

“Thanks, Steven.” Frank said after a moment. 

“Hey, Steven.” Church called after them. The boy stopped and looked. “...you’re not gonna buy your donut?” 

Steven paused and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything I really wanted.” 

Then they left together. 

\----

Sundays were usually shitty because Grif had to deal with a change in schedule. This particular Sunday? Calling it shitty was an insult to shitty days everywhere. First of all, he was back down to six hours this week. He’d shot back up to eight for a while, sure, Donut had been in the hospital for that but Grif really couldn’t give too much of a fuck. Then he’d had closing, which, sure was stressful and boring as fuck but still seven hour days and he didn’t have to cook anything. This week? He moved to opening. Which was always the worst shift, but now they started at opening instead of half an hour early which meant running back and forth from the kitchen if a customer dared come in. Not to mention the coffee “not being ready yet.” for a while. Grif didn’t care. Because the night before he’d been here until ten PM and it was six AM. What was worse was his sister had been blasting music all night. Not even the usual rave stuff that put him to sleep with its pulsing...no she was listening to fucking rap, and...rock? or something. Metal, maybe. There was screaming. Lots of screaming. He’d checked three times to make sure there wasn’t a guy in her room. 

So, functionally, Grif was running on zero sleep that morning. Which was why when he got to work he’d just put out a pot of instant until the real stuff could brew. Set up the gravy and the breakfast sandwiches and got to work on the hot foods. Luckily, he had two hours before even the earliest cheap sunday breakfast bunch breezed through. 

Then, three hours in, Simmons showed up. Perfect. At least it wasn’t Donut, right? Besides, Simmons was a good guy, fun to bounce ideas off of sometimes. Okay, so he was a total kiss-ass to their boss and probably the biggest nerd Grif knew. Still. He was good at helping Grif hide from the church crowd and being polite to them instead of accidentally starting debates by saying something that was apparently rude. Because no one liked mornings and no one who is actually on their way to church actually likes questions from the curious...especially because Grif was just skeptical enough that they always came across as super passive aggressive and got him branded as a jackass. Which, okay, yes. He was a jackass. So Grif just hid in the kitchen and made sure they had enough sandwiches for lunch. And if he snacked on the pepperjack no one was the wiser. Well, except for the part where he snacked on a little too much of it and it burned his mouth a little so he also had to sneak some soda. Whatever. It wasn’t like they were going to fire him. He’d all but been trying to get fired from this fucking place since the day they hired him. Sarge was trying to drive him out and make him quit instead since the company was too cheap to pay out unemployment insurance. 

The good thing about opening with a six hour shift is that he left at noon. So at a quarter to eleven, Grif was ready to go. Basically itching to. 

That was when the kid walked in with the asshole. Or, at least, Grif could assume he was an asshole. He had a pretentious face. The kid was cute though, in that big smile very polite greeting and studying their shelves closely for several moments. The asshole, okay, that wasn’t actually Grif’s first impression of him. Pretentious was. He said “Excuse me?” in a tone that suggested not so much a sense of superiority as a sense of nervousness about having to interact with a type of person he wasn’t use to dealing with. 

“Yeah?” Grif greeted, because Simmons was taking advantage of the fact that Grif was here for another however long and taking his fifteen minute break. At least Donut had the courtesy to keep it to a ten, Simmons insisted that at a six hour workday he was still legally entitled to a fifteen minute break and took one. Then he called Grif a lazy ass. Grif wanted to remind him that legally, they were entitled to a two-day weekend, a fifteen minute break and a half hour lunch at a six hour day but if he tried to take a half hour lunch Simmons would bite his head off. Whatever. 

“My name is Frank Dufrane…” the man started.

“Hey, Doc!” the kid interrupted.

The man froze, and rolled his eyes. Not a desired nickname. Grif knew the feeling and smiled what he hoped was compassionately. It was hard to tell this many hours into this shitty of a day. It was hard to tell ever, actually. Grif wasn’t great at conveying his emotions. “Check it out, they have even MORE flavors of that protein drink you like!”

“I...don’t exactly know that I like it yet, Steven…” this Dufrane guy or whatever his name was protested, but he followed the kid into the back room. They didn’t exactly look related but they were here together. Weird kid / adult combinations coming into the store together really needed to stop, Grif wasn’t okay with this. “I haven’t tried them yet.” 

“Aww, but look! It comes in strawberry!” 

“Blood Red Blood Gulch Blood Red.” Grif quoted playfully. “Did you expect us to have anything not come in strawberry?” 

“Grif, you can’t tell them we have everything in Strawberry.” Simmons scolded. Did he really have to come back from his break this second? “That’s false advertising.” 

“I never said we have everything in strawberry.” Grif argued. “I asked them if they THOUGHT we didn’t have anything in strawberry. Big difference.” 

“No it’s not. That’s the same fucking thing.” 

“Simmons!” Grif protested. “There’s a kid in the corner.” 

“Oh.” Simmons said. “...sorry…” then he paused “...wait...since when do you care? You cuss in front of kids all the time.” 

“Yeah, but I hold you to a higher standard than that.” Grif retorted, smiling.

Frank and the kid, Steven, talked for a minute in the back corner over the protein shakes and eventually, he brought a four pack to the counter. Grif checked him out while Simmons zoned, an odd change of roles. “So you’re new around here?” Grif asked, having picked out bits and pieces of the conversation, just enough to have a generic starter. 

“Just moved, actually. I’m looking for a roommate. I was hoping you guys could put one of my signs up for me, actually.” 

Grif looked at the sign and had instant spit reactions. Part of him instantly judged it for the absolutely terrible graphic design. Another part, only slightly stronger, reminded him that it’s seriously not like he could have done any better. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” he agreed, keeping his laughter internalized. And biting back comments about how he should have consulted a media student to make this for him, they’d have charged like ten bucks and it’d have been way more eye catching. 

“Grif!” 

Grif would know that voice anywhere. Sarge was early.

“Hey, Sarge.” he greeted, wondering what his idiot boss was so worked up this early in the day. Because even though Grif was already at the end of his shift it was still actually only noon. On a Sunday. 

“Grif if you’re done loitering with your little friend here, I smell something burning. And I think it’s the gravy you should have had out of the pot an hour ago!” 

Grif paused, and sniffed. “Simmons?” he called, confused, because that did smell like burning gravy. But he could’ve sworn Simmons had said that he’d turned off the pot. 

“Don’t pass this off! I caught you standing around like the lazy good for nothing you always are, now snap to and figure out what happened to our breakfast!.” 

“My...shift is ending, sir…”

“Better hurry then!” 

Grif grumbled and turned away, just in time to hear the asshole whisper “he’s...not actually my friend…” just as he discovered that sure enough, there was a scoop of gravy burning to the bottom of the crock pot that Simmons had turned UP instead of OFF. Which no doubt he’d blame on Grif the minute he was out the door. Turning it off and picking it up to get it properly washed out so no one would die of food poisoning Monday Morning...not that their customers weren’t taking that chance every time they so much as set foot through the door, Grif set to washing it. 

It took just about every ounce of self control he had not to turn and chuck the damn thing at Doc’s head though. 

When he was through, he clocked out and stormed out, only to find the kid, Steven, sitting somewhat forlornly on the front porch. He looked actually seriously pathetic, dark hair actually hanging in his face like some kind of eight year old emo. 

“Hey.” Grif greeted, stopping, then crossing in front of him at the bottom of the porch and leaning against the building next to him. “You okay, kid?” he sounded old saying it like that, but the little guy was seriously like eight, of course he sounded old, he probably looked ancient to the basically literal baby who looked like the world was ending. 

“People over here aren’t very nice, are they?” Steven asked sadly.

Grif sighed heavily and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “Sorry.” he said simply, lighting it and taking a drag. He blew it, politely, in the opposite direction from the small child. “I guess we’re really not.” 

“You seem nice.” Steven commented.

Grif choked. And coughed out the smoke he’d just inhaled instead of breathing it out properly. “I’m REALLY not. Please don’t expect me to be. I’m probably...the second biggest asshole in this dump.” 

Stevens eyes widened for a moment, then he sighed heavily. “Doc seemed nice too.” and that got right to the heart of it. 

“Doc…” Grif started. “Doc is the worst kind of person, kid. What was your name, again? Steven?” 

“Yeah.” Steven answered. “Steven Universe.” 

“Universe?” Grif echoed, he paused a beat and asked “...does your dad own the Car Wash?” 

“You know him?!” Steven asked excitedly, grinning suddenly, happily, all the sadness from people not being nice completely forgotten. 

“I know the car wash.” Grif answered. “Applied there every week for a year before I landed this shit job. Your dad’s a nice guy. The real deal nice. I was pretty sure I’d wear him down and get him to hire me sooner or later...but never hiring.” 

“Wow!” Steven smiled “...small world.” he pondered, looking ahead, suddenly far more serious than any eight year old had any right to be ever. 

“Small town.” Grif corrected. “The world is huge, Steven. Don’t let this place fool you. You’ll get out of here someday and figure it out. You seem smart, you can pull it off.” 

Steven looked at him curiously, almost searchingly, then he said “you almost sound like Pearl right now. Which is weird because she really wouldn’t like the way you talk most of the time.” 

“How would you know how I talk most of the time?” Grif protested. “We just met.” 

Steven shrugged “true, true.” he admitted, and Grif realized then that this kid probably spent most of his time around adults and he felt something pull inside his chest that he clamped down on hard and ignored. “I just mean that you swear and stuff. But you talk about things like…” he trailed off and shrugged. Then he asked “...do you think I should buy a donut at your store?” 

It was an odd question. “Why do you ask?” Grif asked.

“Because I usually buy one at Blood Gulch Blues.” Steven admitted. “But today, they were...really awful to Doc. and I got mad. ...and I didn’t see my usual flavor in the case anyway.” 

“Well, if you didn’t see your usual flavor then you shouldn’t bother.” Grif answered. “But...kid...you can’t base where you shop on how nice the employees are to other people. You’ll never shop anywhere. Sure, if someone’s mean to you maybe you’ll want to cut back but...you can’t know what’s going on in people’s lives. A bad day can make someone be…” he paused, reconsidered his language and corrected to “be mean. When maybe they wouldn’t normally be.” 

Steven considered this for several minutes, then he said “...maybe I’ll go see if they have another flavor I like.” 

Grif shrugged. “Well, hey...if you ever get sick of donuts, I can tell you right now every man in this building, no matter how much of a jerk, makes an AWESOME corndog.” 

Steven grinned at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” and turned away, then paused to wave at him. 

Grif waved back, and stayed leaning against the building until he finished his cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover Characters appearing in this Chapter -   
> Steven Universe from Steven Universe
> 
> Crossover Characters mentioned in this Chapter -   
> Dr. Cox from Scrubs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a look at the mundane equivalent of O'Malley getting into Caboose's Head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I haven't updated anything in Forever.  
> Welcome to the Cybird June 8th Update Binge.   
> Thoughts on my characterization of O'Malley especially appreciated.

After a few days without Tex, Church decided to move to the morning shift. Which meant Caboose almost never saw him. They passed each other at two in the afternoon, when Church was leaving and Caboose was just getting to work. It was a good thing, because those first few weeks had been awful and he’d had to help cover morning shifts too and had missed about two weeks worth of classes. So now, whenever he wasn’t actively doing things at work, he was trying to do make-up homework for the classes he’d missed. 

He couldn’t really do homework with Tucker there. Tucker made fun of his textbooks, and of his highlighters. ...and of his habit of highlighting way more of his textbooks then he needed to highlight; oh and the printouts of powerpoint slides and the sticky notes he’d use and the pretty pictures on his class notebooks. Basically, Tucker just laughed at him for doing homework, so Caboose had to wait until Tucker left every night at six. Then he’d spread his homework out under the cigarette rack in the back and try to catch up. 

He always did an extra push to clean before Tucker left, which almost always went wrong somehow. Caboose would always tell Church that it was because Tucker got in the way but by that time Church usually had about four hours of Tucker’s side of the story and believed him instead, no matter how it had actually gone down. Regardless, at about seven thirty, everything that could be done for the night had been done and Caboose settled in to do schoolwork between customers. 

When this customer came in, Caboose was briefly confused “Hi, Church...you’re not Church.” he blinked a few times at the alarmingly familiar stranger. Same height and body type and general shape of face with differences so subtle that Caboose legitimately couldn’t pick them out if asked to name them but he could recognize them with ease. He also smiled very differently than Church. Church...didn’t so much smile as he did grimace happily. Or...happily might be an overstatement. Happily was an overstatement for this person too...but it was more smile then grimace. His face was wider somehow, but his lips curled harder and he looked...like he was going to hurt somebody? He looked angry. Caboose curled back toward his homework a little and swallowed as he greeted “Hi. Welcome?” 

“I am not Church.” he agreed. His voice was surprisingly deep. Caboose blinked hard. “I am here about Church.” 

“He works mornings now.” Caboose blurted. Then instantly he felt guilty as a thousand and one scenarios in which that had been a betrayal and now Church was going to be horribly murdered or worse flooded his brain. “I...uh...um. I mean...he...I don’t know how to find Church. How would you go about finding Church...Mr…?” 

“O’Malley.” the man answered simply. He leaned on the counter, then he said “You’re Caboose, aren’t you?” 

“Y...yes…” Caboose stammered. 

“I was told you were looking out for Church.” That was an odd phrasing from such an angry man. Or maybe...Caboose tried to hope, O’Malley wasn’t actually as angry as he seemed and was actually a nice man who just seemed very angry? 

“We need at least three people to cover all of the shifts right now…” Caboose answered. “With Tex in jail and Church’s ribs almost all the way better…” Caboose shrugged. “He decided to take mornings again...which was good because we were both working all day after Tex went to jail and so now I’m behind on my homework…” he paused then asked “how um...how do you know Church?” 

“Oh...we have a long history.” O’Malley answered. “I heard about his condition from Tex and wanted to be sure he was alright.” The words were entirely innocent but something in his tone just set Caboose on edge. 

Finally pinpointing what was fishy about them, Caboose asked “...how do you know Tex?” 

O’Malley smirked. That was the best description for it, he didn’t really smile ether. He just smirked. He looked arrogant and like he was constantly coiled to attack someone. Caboose tried not to watch how he shifted slightly. Tried to pretend he wasn’t aware how easily this stranger could leap the counter and hurt him...Even though Caboose was probably bigger. “Oh...We have an almost longer history than I do with Church. Most recently though we crossed paths in the Blood Gulch Jail.” Caboose started cleaning up his homework in something of a mad rush. O’Malley chuckled. “I’m not going to hurt you, Caboose. As far as I can tell we’re still on the same side for now. I don’t make a habit of hurting people who are on my side until they betray me. ...You’re not going to betray me, are you?” 

Caboose bit back the instant response of ‘no’ that his sense of self-preservation shot into his mouth. He swallowed it down and instead answered with a question of his own “are you going to hurt Church?” 

O’Malley stared at him, and then chuckled. A dark chuckle, like a villain from a movie that took on a full-fledged laugh of a similar nature. It only lasted a few seconds. “...good to see Church found himself such a loyal little guard dog. Now if only you were an effective one. I’ve told you my policy on hurting people.”

“Not unless they betray you.” Caboose reiterated, letting his papers slip back to where he’d spread them out and turning his attention back to the man who was leaning on the counter. He stepped forward and asked “...do you think Church has betrayed you?” 

“Of course not.” O’Malley answered and Caboose almost collapsed with relief. “This store, the company that runs it, has betrayed him. He’s too much of a coward to turn on them, of course. Not as long as they sign his paycheck.” 

“...I like paychecks.” Caboose observed after a pause as he processed what he was being told. “I don’t like being a coward but...I do like paychecks. And I also don’t like going to jail.” 

O’Malley snorted and commented “I like you, kid. You just...have a long way to go.” 

“Where am I going?” 

O’Malley reached over to the receipt printer and yanked out a length of paper manually, and scratched out an address. “For starters? Here. After your shift.” Then he turned and walked back out of the store. 

Caboose looked down at the address. It was a local bar. “But I’m underage!” he shouted after O’Malley. There was no response. He was already gone. 

\----

Grif sort-of hated when college kids showed up at his store. They usually showed up in packs when they did, and the worst part was when it was packs of boys. A big guy with darker skin and bright artificially colored hair, a scrawny mess with red hair so bright it was probably artificially colored and an equally scrawny asshole with hair that was equally obviously dyed as it was bright fucking blue. And Grif could tell he was an asshole by the way he walked, pure swagger. Like he owned the fucking place. 

At least he had closing shift back this week, one of the best parts about the damn hat was that there was no consideration for fairness to anyone and Grif landed the top pick no matter what Sarge said, if his hat decided something he’d never admit it was wrong. So Grif was back to the soul crushing terror for the safety of his baby sister and oh yeah the mind devouring boredom all in exchange for a few extra bucks on his paycheck. Still, that meant dealing with the occasional college asshole. At least it didn’t seem like these guys were drunk. 

“What did Sun want?” the alarmingly british redhead asked, stopping to study the items in the freezer. He was either staring really intently and trying to solve some sort of puzzle in his head or else he was stoned out of his mind. Or some drug-free combination of the two created from the kind of idiocy only being a sleep deprived college student on a snack run could create. 

“Do you really think he’d have trusted us with the snack run if he cared?” the blue haired one demanded casually, having moved into position in front of the sports drinks with his body half turned toward the alcohol. Grif silently in his head put money on him being the one who’d had the connections to get the lot of them fake IDs. ‘

The big guy seemed to know what he was doing. Chips, two different kinds of dip, a tin of mixed nuts and a box of fruit snacks. Which everyone over the age of ten pretended to hate but secretly loved and Grif couldn’t help but kinda admire the guy for owning that. Even though the blue haired guy asked “are you getting us kid snacks?” sounding genuinely offended. 

“I’m getting Sun kid snacks.” he deflected, which made this entire getting slammed by college kids worth it. Pin it on the guy who was too lazy to make the snack run. Grif was amused as fuck. 

The redhead ended up with hot pockets and a couple TV dinners. Blue guy was responsible for drinks it seemed like. Sure enough, he grabbed a couple of six packs of beer, a six pack of soda, and four large bottles of gatorade. Despite having come in together obviously they checked out separately. Grif felt like enough of an asshole asking for blue’s ID. Finding out his name was Neptune? Made him decide not to challenge if it was real or not. It’d seem like he was picking on the kid for his name. 

Legally, he should probably check the other kids IDs too. They were smooth though, not offering them up front like overeager teens with brand new fakes so they knew what they were doing even though they were obviously too young and obviously with the guy buying the alcohol. Not to mention, legally? Grif was suppose to get weekends. So fuck carding anybody but the guy with the beer. 

While the big guy was checking out, he heard Neptune reassuring the redhead “No. I don’t think you needed to grab one for Blake.”

“She’s not coming down?” 

Neptune rolled his eyes. “Blake does not like Sun enough to drive down from Sidewinder on a moment's notice just to hang with the four of us, Scarlet.” 

“Why’s he wasting time with her then?” the redhead, apparently named Scarlet mumbled petulantly and Grif did a double take, then looked at their snack smart friend who was singularly ignoring the pair of them. It was apparently an acquired skill.

Neptune punched Scarlet hard in the arm which earned a loud and annoying shriek of protest that cut straight through Grif’s brain and froze him in place for a second before he finished checkout. “Careful.” Neptune scolded “Weiss doesn’t like me that much either.” 

The trio left, Neptune and Scarlet still bickering about the fourth member of their party and girls and the guy who knew what he was doing bringing up the rear and following them out. Grif watched them go and took a few moments to wonder if he’d ever have made friends like that if he hadn’t sunk himself into taking care of his sister. Sure, that casual antagonism with roots in affection was pretty close to what he had with Simmons...but that was a work friendship. They were together because they had to be. Who knows what threw those kids together? They certainly weren’t regular. It was mid semester and he was still seeing new faces from the college. Then again, maybe they were semi-regulars and Grif just hadn’t worked closing often enough to see them. 

They’d been a nice break in the boredom. Now they were gone. ...back to it, apparently. Just another hour and a half. 

\----

Caboose spent the rest of his shift thinking about the concept of betrayal. What it was...what it meant...did it count as betrayal if it wasn’t actually your fault? For example...if he got kicked out of the bar for not having a good fake ID? Or if he was late because he was slow at closing the store? Like what if a customer came in at nine fifty eight? And stayed forever! 

...What if O’Malley found out that he’d been the one who had hurt Church? ...Almost killed him really. Sure it was...more Tucker’s fault then anybody. Scaring him like that and making it sound like their neighbors were horrible people who would actually kill Church and telling him to go check on him. Still. That wouldn’t have been the version Tex told...or would it? Tex didn’t like Tucker either. So here Caboose was, a crumpled piece of paper telling him to go somewhere it was technically still illegal for him to go for another three years at a technically unspecified time. Once there, he was to meet with a vaguely threatening person who had talked a lot about the idea of betrayal. ...and who looked a lot like Church, and had a complicated history with him...which meant they were probably family… 

Caboose wished he could talk to Church about it. The problem was that O’Malley wanted to meet him tonight, and Church had been very clear to never, ever, under any circumstances, call him at home. Not even in an emergency. Which was okay, because Church needed his rest. Rest was important to healing and Church still had a few weeks before he was totally healed from the accident. So he couldn’t talk to Church tonight, and he couldn’t put meeting O’Malley off until tomorrow. It was a decision to be made tonight.

Except it wasn’t even really a decision, was it? No customers came in at the last minute, Caboose closed up on time, got in his truck, and drove directly to the bar. He pulled into the little dirt parking lot next to the bar, and parked. Then he just waited in the cab for a few moments, pocketing his keys and thinking. Thinking about how he’d decided a long time ago he wasn’t going to be the sort of person who went directly to the bar after work. This was an exception though. It still sat wrong in his stomach as he slowly got out of the truck. He was tense through his entire body as he walked inside. 

O’Malley wasn’t sitting at the bar. He also wasn’t hard to spot, though, he’d tucked himself into a little booth along the same wall the door was built into. He lifted a hand and waved Caboose over to his seat. Caboose walked slowly over and sat down. “You came.” O’Malley observed. 

“I um…” Caboose began, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t think I actually had a choice?” 

O’Malley snorted and leaned forward “I’m really so threatening to you?” 

“You were in jail with Tex.” Caboose responded. “...Tex put Donut in the hospital. He needed surgery and everything. Also...you’re just a little bit intimidating. ...and by a little bit I mean a lot.” 

O’Malley chuckled, a sound Caboose was pretty sure would be making guest appearances in his nightmares for the next few weeks. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” 

“Not unless I betrayed you.” Caboose reminded him. “and...I still don’t know what you mean by that.” 

“mmm…” was the not response response that was followed by a long drink from a tall glass of what Caboose could only presume was beer. “Good ear. Want a drink?” 

Caboose blinked, then answered “I’m a minor...and you just got out of jail.” 

O’Malley raised his eyebrows and took another long drink, then set his glass down and repeated the question as if he hadn’t heard Caboose, except a little more forcefully. “Want. A. Drink?” 

“Sure?” Caboose agreed, uncertain. 

“Don’t agree because you’re afraid of me.” O’Malley snapped. “This place has seventeen varieties of beer on tap, three of those come in bottle as well, and two other varieties just in bottle. Do. You. Want. A drink?” 

Caboose hesitated another long moment. Then he cleared his throat and said “I have school tomorrow and...I don’t trust you.” 

O’Malley chuckled again. Seriously though, fuck that sound. “Good answer. So the question is...what do you want?” 

Caboose narrowed his eyes. “What...do you...mean?” 

“I mean what do you want, Caboose? You’re overcommitted to a dead end job, you’ve already let it interfere with your academic performance all for a man who...if I know…” there was an odd pause there, as if his instinct was to say something other than the word he ended up saying. The word he ended up saying though was simply “...Church at all, can barely stand you. Caboose, you’re in a major that can segue into nearly any field in the world but less than six weeks after being hired you’re selling your soul to a business run by a corporation I would not hesitate to call evil. Caboose...what is it that you want?” 

Caboose hated things like this. Moments like this, times when thoughts stretched out and twisted away and was just strange and elongated and unrecognizable. He couldn’t think straight. O’Malley’s words were stupid and made too much sense and didn’t fit quite right in his head. “I...want…” he began, thinking, considering, the thoughts and words not coming as he couldn’t quite match them to what O’Malley was saying. “...people to like me. Especially Church. ...and...I want to be happy?” he paused and then asked “Do I sound dumb?” 

“Not at all. All worthwhile goals.” O’Malley responded. “You’ll want to break it down more. What’s standing in the way of you being happy?” 

“I don’t...know?” 

“Try it this way.” O’Malley advised. “Who is standing in the way of you being happy?” 

“I...don’t...know...that...either?”

O’Malley snorted. A better sound than him chuckling but really not by a lot. He took a moment to finish his beer then he said “I’m glad you want Church to like you, kid.” he put his beer down and looked Caboose directly in the eye. Something about his eyes were… terrifying. Unbalanced. Caboose was trembling a little as O’Malley explained “When someone is standing in between you and what you want…” he shifted his glass very suddenly. It tipped off of the table and shattered on the floor. Caboose startled and looked around frantically. There was music, there was conversation, everyone was busy with something. No one had noticed the empty, shattered glass on the floor yet. His heart was pounding and he could barely hear O’Malley past the blood pulsing through his head. “...you move them.” then O’Malley got up and walked, calmly, out of the bar. 

Caboose sat there, he didn’t know how long. It felt like an eternity. For the first time in his life he actually understood what it meant to be alone in a crowd and for the first time in his life he wondered why that would be a bad thing because being noticed was the last thing he wanted. In fact, when a bartender glanced his way he jolted out of his seat and made a beeline for the door. Caboose knew he crashed into someone on his way out. He felt his shoulder slam against theirs, heard a swear word, followed by a hard thump and a series of swear words that would make Church tell someone to settle down. He should stop to help. 

For a second he did, in the doorway. He turned and looked. The person he’d shoulder checked to the floor by mistake was a kid younger than him with a mohawk and a tank top. He looked like he was ready for a fight too. Caboose backed slowly onto the porch, and caught himself on the handrail just before he could fall down the steps. 

It was when mohawk stormed toward him that his vision cut out. Caboose recognized him. Something about him. He didn’t know how, but he recognized him. He was the punk from the high school. Blood Gulch High School, Caboose knew him from somewhere and he could only almost place where. Not from the store...not exactly. Except, sort-of. Because in that moment that Caboose couldn’t actually tell what was going on in front of him that he remembered seeing him hanging out on first street. Outside of Blood Red. Eating one of their stupid specialty hot foods. 

...Blood Red Blood Gulch Blood Red. That store. Those customers.   
They were the reason that Church hadn’t been able to let up while it had just been him and Tucker. They were the reason it wasn’t okay for anyone to relax ever. ...they were the reason Church had gotten hurt and Tex had gone to jail.

Something connected with Caboose’s fist. 

He opened his eyes to realize it was Mohawk boy’s face.

Caboose hadn’t moved from where he was braced against the stair rail. So that meant the kid had attacked him. Or gotten in his face, or something. The problem was that this little three stair staircase only had one rail. Which meant that mohawk boy practically flew off the staircase and into the parking lot and landed hard. 

Caboose didn’t wait for him to land though, didn’t wait for anything else to happen. He just bolted directly to his truck, pulled his keys from his pocket, and drove away. 

...because as terrifying as he was, and as terrifying as it was…

...maybe O’Malley was right.   
and maybe it was time for there to only be one convenience store in Blood Gulch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters appearing in this chapter -   
> Team SSSN Minus Sun (Scarlet, Sage, and Neptune) from RWBY  
> Puck from Glee


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mundane version of something from Season 1 gets reshuffled to season 2 for plot convenience, and we find out a bit this world's version of Church and Tex's past.

“No, seriously man, Caboose is acting weird.” Tucker complained, again. For about the third time this morning. Tucker complained about Caboose a lot, and it was frustrating. Really, Church got it. The kid was an idiot, he didn’t know how to handle shit, he was stupid, and sometimes he was a little bit racist and he didn’t quite apologize all the way. And other times he just did something stupid that caused some sort of problem or mess that supposedly Tucker had to clean up but Church had the impression that Tucker really just forced Caboose to clean up his own messes and Tucker’s on top of it. So he really couldn’t put much stock in Tucker’s claim that Caboose was being “I mean, really fucking weird man. Like all last night, he wouldn’t stop staring at me. And not like, gay staring like he does at you sometimes. Like, creepy staring. Seriously, Church, if looks could kill…” 

“I hate that fucking expression, Tucker.” Church interrupted. “Did he say anything? Did he threaten you?” 

“Kinda?” Tucker responded “I don’t know man. It was weird. Yesterday after you left was the weirdest day of my life.” 

“I don’t know…” Church answered. The truth was, Caboose had seemed a bit quieter than normal yesterday. But then, they only ever saw each other for about thirty seconds a day which was fine by Church. His usually enthusiastic smile had been a little bit muted. He’d also seemed to wait several beats longer before leaving the store. “Maybe he’s just tired. I mean, do you know where he’s from? Maybe he grew up someplace a little bit racist and is falling back on old habits?” 

“So not what’s happening here.” Tucker answered. “I can tell the difference between someone side-eyeing me because I’m black, and someone side-eyeing me because they think I’m an asshole. Caboose thinks I’m an asshole.” 

“Tucker…” Church deadpanned “...you are an asshole.” 

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean Caboose isn’t acting weird!” Tucker insisted.

Church sighed heavily. “Look. I’m not here to work out your personal issues with your fucking co-workers. In case you didn’t notice...you’re still technically the manager. I do all the work, but you have the tags. So HR issues? Are on you.” 

“So can I fire Caboose?” Tucker asked.

“No.” Church snapped. “Because as long as Tex is in jail, no one here knows how to fix the fucking payroll.” 

“Dude, you didn’t get her to show you how to fix the payroll before she got arrested?” 

“Do not start with me, Tucker.” Church scolded. “Just don’t. I didn’t exactly expect her to go next door and fucking burn someone’s face off, okay? In hindsight, maybe I should have, because she’s a psychotic bitch. But I didn’t. So lay off, okay?” 

Tucker sighed heavily. “...when does Tex get out of jail?” 

“I don’t know.” Church answered. “It depends on whether or not Donut presses charges.” he paused slightly, then confessed “...and whether or not anyone posts bail.” 

“She’s up for bail?” Tucker asked, surprised. 

Church sighed heavily. “Yeah. Pretty high bail, at least pretty high for my broke ass. I’ve been sitting around to see if anyone comes for her from corporate but…”

“Why would someone come for her from corporate?” Tucker asked “She only came from corporate because she found out you got hit by a truck.” 

Church paused for a moment, then snorted “Okay. Well. I’m not gonna follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion.” he paused and shook his head, because there was no way he was going to admit even for a second that having been run over by a freaking truck was a good thing, or that Caboose deserved even the slightest bit of a break for being the one to do it. Sure, he was a good kid. That didn’t change the fact that he was weird, he was a little bit stupid, and he said shitty things.

Maybe Church was too hard on Caboose, Maybe he felt a little bit bad about that. Maybe that was why he insisted that Tucker not be such an ass to Caboose. Even though he hadn’t seen the kid in a while he was pretty sure that things hadn’t changed as much as Tucker was claiming they had. Besides, Tucker was just talking about yesterday. “Everyone has off days, Tucker.” Church ventured back to the old topic. “Even...Caboose? I guess?” 

Tucker snorted. “Whatever. But if he follows me home and kills me in my sleep…” 

“He’d...have closed the store four hours early and I’d know about it and called the police?” Church offered by way of comfort. 

“How the fuck would you know if he closed the store four hours early?” Tucker demanded. 

He wouldn’t. It had been a lie, he was bullshitting. But you couldn’t just back out and admit you were bullshitting halfway through bullshitting. “I have my ways.” he said, mysteriously.

“No, what you have is a load of bullshit.” Tucker called him on, leaving Church wondering why, exactly, he was physically incapable of lying to literally anyone and wanting to punch someone in the face. 

Church sighed heavily and glanced toward the back. “You think I should check in with them?” he asked after a moment. “Maybe find out if Donut is planning to press charges?” Tucker chortled a little and Church snapped “oh. my god what is it now?” 

“I still can’t believe that the guy’s name is Donut.” he commented. 

“Tucker. Our newbie is named Caboose. We don’t have a lot of room to talk, or laugh, or point fingers.” 

“Except for at Donut and Caboose.” Tucker responded.

“Your first name is literally Lavernius.” Church retorted. 

“Fuck you, it’s a family name!” Tucker shouted. “You want to make fun of names, Church? Seriously? Church?” 

“Hey. You started it. I was just. you know. Glass houses. Stones. Just saying.” 

“Yeah. Whatever. Are you finding out if they’re pressing charges against Tex or not?” 

“I figure I’ll go once Caboose gets here.” Church responded.

“Right. and leaving me alone with him. Again.” 

Church sighed, perhaps a bit more dramatically than the situation warranted. He still felt like he needed a heavy sigh and if it came out a little melodramatic well hey, Tucker was the one presenting scenarios about getting murdered in his sleep so the situation had more than earned it. “Tucker. My shift ends when his starts. I’m sure you're familiar with the concept. You know...of a shift ending? It’s that thing that...when it happens to you you tend to bolt out the door? Whether you’ve finished doing your job for the day or not?” 

Tucker sighed as well. It was a kinda pathetic sigh compared to Church’s big dramatic one a minute ago and Church wasn’t sure if he should feel proud of that fact...or pathetic for the impulse to feel proud of that fact. “I know...it’s just. Real talk, Church...he was freaking me out. I don’t know. Something changed after I left work on Sunday, man… or Monday Morning before he got here. But Caboose is acting really fucking weird.” 

They really should have known better then to be having this conversation so close to two o’clock. Really. They also should have been paying attention because conversations like this were unprofessional and scared off customers. Especially new customers or like...little old lady customers or things like that. Church actually hadn’t heard the door open at all or any movement. Which was why when, almost right beside his ear he heard Caboose protest “no I’m not.” he proceeded to jump about...well… however high his muscles naturally sent him when he jumped. Figuratively? through the fucking roof. Literally? Maybe an actual six inches. Which was still fucking impressive. 

“Jesus CHRIST Caboose!” Church shouted, turning to face Caboose. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Not very long.” Caboose answered. “I haven’t been acting weird though. Everything is perfectly normal.” 

Church side-eyed Caboose for a long moment then glanced up at the clock. “Right...well...I’m...gonna go clock out...and then I’m gonna go find out if the guys next door are pressing charges against Tex.” 

“Oh!” Caboose responded. “Say hello to them for me!” 

Church stared at Caboose for a minute, and blinked at him. Something was definitely off about him. He seemed...like he’d turned up his earnestness. Maybe even his intensity. And...yeah okay maybe he was looking at Tucker with murder eyes. That was a little unnerving. “Yeah...I’ll...do that…” and he started for the back.

Tucker followed him and hissed through his teeth “See what I mean, dude? Something about him is definitely off.” 

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” Church responded. “Look...he’s not actually gonna hurt you, alright? And if he tries…” Church trailed off, then shrugged helplessly. “I dunno...you can take ‘em?” then he turned and walked away. 

\-----

Grif knew it was pathetic. He knew he was pretty pathetic. Coming to work however much early just because he literally had nothing else going on in his life? Of course that was what work was. It sucked away the potential for him to have anything that even resembled a life. Sure he had a couple friends but they had regular work schedules instead of these shitty shifting schedules. Besides, the alley between the mini marts was a decent place for hanging out. Smoking, thinking, whatever. If he thought he could do his job impaired it’d be a decent place for drinking. God knows he found enough beer bottles back here. That little access road over the fence was a decent place too, and hopping the fence wasn’t exactly hard. In the sense that it was actually physically possible for his fat ass. So sometimes Grif would park on the old access road, hop the fence, and hang out for an hour or two before his shift. Especially when he worked closing. Especially since closing shift now officially started an entire fucking hour after it had when, you know, the hours had been fair if still fucking illegal. He could give Sarge shit on breaks and that was always worth it. 

Today though, that angry little bluetard came back. Except he seemed interested in actually coming in the back. Which he paused awkwardly when he saw Grif. Understandable. That whole group was basically psychotic, Grif had decided. He shifted a little bit defensively, and warned himself not to provoke this asshole this time. So when the words “Here to steal our breakfast sausage?” dropped out of his mouth in his regular sarcastic tone he felt very much like kicking himself. He hopefully kept his expression deadpan enough but he felt his face try to wince out of it. Goddamnit. 

“What? No!” the poor exasperated little bastard protested. Grif couldn’t help but smirk a little, and feel like in another world the two of them could actually have been friends. And maybe a little bit sad that something as stupid and shitty as jobs could get in the way of that. “I’m here to make sure your guy doesn’t press charges against my…” he trailed off “my...um...against… to make sure your...uh…” 

“Wow.” Grif mocked. “that sentence got away from you, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, fuck you too.” the smartest blue returned sharply and Grif chuckled. 

“Holy shit, are you blushing?” Grif pressed when he noticed, feeling every inch the asshole he knew he was. 

“Can I just...talk to either Donut or your manager?” 

“They’re both inside.” Grif answered. “I should warn you...taking the back door? um. Sarge has a shotgun behind the counter...and Donut will probably try to make it weird.” 

“What do you mean he’ll try to make it weird?” 

Grif shook his head. “Yeah I’m not explaining.” he expressed. “Still..what happened to you being respectful and coming around front?” 

“I...I don’t know. This just seemed...you know. More convenient.” he answered, and Grif understood that, and nodded in what he made no effort to make a genuine sort of understanding. “You know...if we’re going to open lines of communication...and…” Grif was still nodding, deeply and sarcastically. “Oh C’mon! I’m just trying to work something out here!” 

“Huh?” Grif answered, snapping his head still again and looking this poor bastard in the eye. If he was going to walk into negotiations with Sarge, he had to have a fundamental understanding of what deliberately obtuse looked like. Really, Grif was doing him a favor by answering “sorry. I uh...wasn’t listening.” 

As predicted, top blue stormed past him. And, deciding this was way too rich to pass up, Grif followed. Honestly, he was a little bit surprised Sarge didn’t just shoot him for coming in from the back. Especially not when Donut startled like that in the middle of mopping. Poor kid. Of course, from the sound of it he also started mid-sentence, so Sarge was most likely glad of the interruption. 

“What in the hell are you doing here?”Sarge demanded, not quite as harshly as he might have, but still pretty harshly. 

“Actually I’m um...I’m here to talk to Donut.” 

“Talk to? Or Assault? Don’t think we’re not wise to your tricks you tricky...tricksters.” was Sarge’s answer. Grif could feel his eyes rolling hard enough that he wondered if they weren’t trying to escape out the back of his skull.

“I am not trying to assault Donut.” the blue guy reassured, or, tried to reassure. He was frustrated enough it sounded over the top and snapish. 

“Donut.” Sarge ordered sharply “you keep at least thirty feet between you and this man at all times, do you understand me?” 

“Yes, sir.” Donut agreed, and moved rather suddenly to the far wall. “Um...is this far enough or should I go outside?” 

“I can talk to you outside if that would be easier.” blue offered, only to find Sarge right up in his face.

“Now listen here young man I have had enough of you waltzing in here and threatening my men!”

“Threatening, what?”

“Now, Donut’s a scrapper, and if you and he did take this outside why I expect he’d throw you through the nearest windshield.” there was a beat, then Sarge prompted over his shoulder “that was a compliment son.” 

“Thank you, sir?” Donut questioned

Sarge continued without acknowledging Donut further. “but I’d say he’s been through enough! So you should turn right back around and march back to your own damn store before we decide to make this personal!” 

“I’m not here to fight Donut!” the poor blue bastard shouted, and Grif covered his mouth so no one could hear him chuckling from the hall. “I just want to talk to him!” 

“I mean” Sarge continued as if he hadn’t even heard the other man and honestly, who was to say if he had or not? The man was fucking insane. “...if you were here gunning for Grif, well, that’d be another story but...not for Donut, man. Don’t you have better things to do over in your pathetic excuse for a rival mini-mart then to plot against an innocent little lady bug like Donut!” 

Grif tensed reflexively. Seriously? If he hadn’t already processed what this was about ten minutes ago he’d have actually freaked out a little bit at that. Even still he found himself actually trying to size up this poor, frustrated bastard who had been in no way properly prepared to go toe to toe with Sarge of all people. What would have happened if he’d been coming here looking for a fight? 

“For the last time!” the man protested “I’m not…” then he stopped “what did you just call him?” 

Grif was amused again for a grand total of two seconds, because that was all the time he had before chaos broke out. 

Maybe the first thing that actually processed was that Donut was screaming. It was a sound Grif remembered a little bit too well, and all of the visuals happened too fast to really register before that bit sank in. So by the time Grif was really aware of what he was seeing, Sarge was on the floor and their frustrated visitor was several steps back from where he’d been, shirt covered in flecks of bright red. 

 

Then he looked up and saw the tall guy who’d given Donut the fucking sausage patties that started this whole fucking mess...holding a gun. “Holy Shit.” Grif gasped starting forward fast to Sarge’s side. Something in the back of his head, some instinct that usually did a much better job of ruling his behavior, told him to hit the fucking deck and not move until the guy with the gun was actually gone. So the fact that he was kneeling over the jackass who had literally just volunteered him as a target as opposed to ‘little lady bug’ Donut, back up and half shielding him from the aforementioned man with the aforementioned gun.

“Caboose, what the FUCK?” was the sharp cry that shook through the whole room from pretty much directly over Grif’s head. 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” chanted Donut from the far wall next to the door. Grif wanted to jam something down his throat to make him shut the fuck up so the crazy person wouldn’t fucking notice him. 

Then Sarge groaned. And blinked. And the giant splash of red on his face crinkled and warped and Grif saw what could only be a bright blotchy bruise developing underneath. The leg Grif had been kneeling on gave out from under him and he fell with a hard thud that drew all eyes to them. A silent laugh forced its way out of his lungs as his back shook from the pressure of the relief flooding through him and he finally followed it with the single word that was reverberating through his brain that made everything okay again. “...paint.” 

“Seriously, Caboose!” Okay, did that asshole sound more angry? “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He started forward, and the guy with the gun, the fucking paintball gun, looking over his shoulder now Grif was a little bit humiliated he hadn’t recognized it on sight. To be fair, Sarge had gone down really fucking hard. And the fucking paint was red. “Wha…” Sarge started to ask. 

“Take it easy, Sarge.” Grif advised. “You got hit in the face with a paintball.” 

“Those damn dirty blues...should’ve known that Church fella was only here as a diversion.” Sarge mumbled. 

He was speaking in complete sentences. Grif stood up before the fact that he was about to cry from relief could be noticed. “Hey, Donut?” Grif called, forcing his voice to be a bit harsher. “Our boss just took a paintball to the face for you. Why don’t you check if he’s concussed or not?” 

Donut scrambled over from the wall and to Sarge’s side. Grif was almost completely sure he was concussed. If not from the force of the paintball then from how hard he’d slammed his head. He was also totally sure there was nothing they could do for him at a hospital except everything Grif already knew to do for a concussed person. “I don’t know how to check for a concussion!” Donut protested after a moment. 

“Oh my god, get out of my way.” Grif grumbled, helping Sarge sit up and checking his pupils. Sure enough he had a concussion. 

“Grif, what are you doing so close to my face?” Sarge demanded. 

“I…” Grif answered, leaning in a little just to spite the old man “...am making sure you don’t die, sir.” 

Sarge grumbled a little, then hurmumphed and asked “well then, what’s the verdict?” 

“Do you have anyone to keep an eye on you tonight?” Grif asked. “You know. Wake you up. Ask you who the president is and how old you are?” 

“I live alone.” Sarge answered. “...explicitly so I don’t have to think about the office of president or any politics above the local mayoral office and so no one ever finds out my age.” 

Grif sighed, then answered “then I’m afraid I have to send Donut home with you, sir. Just to be safe.” 

“What?” Sarge demanded. 

“Sarge...he’s in shock, and you have a concussion.” Grif answered, feeling more and more like a little shit. Because despite the terror of mere minutes earlier, this was a perfect excuse to spend his entire shift entirely alone. “You two need each other right now.

“Oh, hell, son, this isn’t my first concussion, I can take care of myself.” Sarge protested, trying to move to stand. Then he thudded hard where Grif had rested him against the counter. “...soon as the room stops spinnin that is.” 

“Uh-huh. Sarge, it’s Donut or the hospital. Your call.” 

Sarge glared at him. “Who do you think you are...giving me orders?” 

Grif shrugged and stood up. “Good point. Do what you want.” then he got to his feet and started to walk away. He could just leave the store..but he needed better then that right now. Yes, he needed to not be impaired to do his job, but...fuck. He couldn’t stand to be sober right now either. 

One beer wasn’t going to fuck him over. A 40 might. So sure, it was a dick move to pull a single beer from a six pack out of the fridge. He didn’t actually give a shit right now, in fact, he rarely actually gave a shit. “Donut.” he said, approaching the counter “ring me up.” 

Donut obeyed, still looking frightened and Grif wanted to reassure him. He did, almost desperately. Instead he just said “I’m gonna go out back...and drink this. And when I come back I’m gonna start my shift early and you can take Sarge home and make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep, okay?” 

Donut nodded, a little too hard. A little too enthusiastically. Grif was pretty sure he had sentenced Sarge to a night of being woken every hour on the hour to inane babbling and whining. He’d feel bad about it, except, you know, for having heard Sarge verbally and willingly throw him to the proverbial wolves just tonight. At least all he was throwing Sarge to was Donut. Which, okay, yes, to be perfectly fair, for any thinking man, was probably worse. But who had ever accused Sarge of being a thinking man? 

You could say a lot of things about Grif, but he followed through on what he said he was going to do. He went out back, and he drank his beer. He leaned heavily against the wall and he took long deep breaths outside, between his long pulls from the bottle. He couldn’t believe how badly that had scared him. I mean sure, seeing anyone get shot in the face would be traumatizing for...well...anyone. But it’d been Sarge, and he’d been...fucking devastated. For that one, crystallized instant there had been nothing but terror and Grif didn’t know how long he’d have to relive that for. 

Except somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew exactly how long he’d have to relive that for. It had been a familiar sensation, one he knew too well and one he went back to more often then he compared to admit. And even though Sarge didn’t mean half as much to him...he knew he’d probably have to deal with this shit for the rest of his life. Once he’d had a few minutes, and more cigarettes then he’d smoked in the last week combined, to come to terms with this, he walked back inside. 

Donut, it seemed, was horrible at following instructions, because the store was already empty.   
Just as well. Grif sighed and went behind the counter and waited for customers to come start him off on what promised to be his longest night in recent memory. 

\-----

At least it had been a paintball gun. 

Caboose was nowhere to be found, but at least it had been a fucking paintball gun. 

For about ten seconds, Church had actually thought Caboose had committed murder. Right in front of him, inches away. Weirdly, he was actually more angry when he realized it had just been a goddamn paintball gun. Which was why he kept reminding himself.

At least it had just been a paintball gun. 

...Church wasn’t sure the paint spatters were ever coming out of his shirt. Which, yes, okay, way better than blood spatters that never came out of your shirt. And yes, okay, way better then an employee that committed a murder right in front of you. 

Murder… Tex really could have killed Donut, couldn’t she? It was weird, the sudden descent of life and death that had hit this place since...well...ever since someone around here had actually died. And that had legitimately been an accident. No one to blame, just...went in his sleep. Church tried not to think about it but it was hard when pretty much every fucking week things were going to hell. Then again, he remembered sitting around with friends joking about how they’d all die. At least one person had said Tex would probably get the death penalty by losing it and becoming a serial killer in a state still backwards enough to have the death penalty, right? He remembered that pretty clearly...of course he was mostly just trying not to remember the fact that that same friend had also predicted he’d die of stress related complications. 

Why had he kept around such morbid friends? 

Oh wait, he didn’t. He couldn’t even remember their fucking name anymore. 

The meeting with the bail bondsman had gone well. Sure, the asshole had been looking at him with pity face basically the whole fucking time. Still, he’d walked him through the process nice and simple and Tex was out on bail before dinner time. Which was why the first thing Church said to her was “Hey, wanna get dinner?” 

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Tex demanded. 

Church glared at her. “Would you prefer ‘you’re welcome, bitch’?” 

“What about an ‘it’s good to see you again’? Or ‘hey, how are you?’?” Tex demanded, her voice dripping a sarcastic sort of sicky sweet that made Church seriously consider punching her. Could you go to jail for punching someone you had just bailed out of jail? His life hated him just enough that was probably exactly what would happen and from there so he decided against it. “...you just decided not to punch me, didn’t you?” 

“Okay, seriously, fuck you.” Church answered. “I’m starving, and you have a lot of explaining to do. So get in the goddamn car, okay?” 

“Okay.” Tex agreed, a lot more easily than he’d expected. 

Church got behind the wheel and waited for Tex to buckle into the passenger seat. She didn’t buckle in. He took a moment to make sure he’d buckled in, he had, by reflex, she hadn’t. “Dude!” he scolded.

“What?” she demanded.

“You’re out on bail and you can’t even obey simple traffic laws?” 

Tex rolled her eyes and buckled up, and Church started the car. After a moment Tex asked “so what the hell took you so long?” 

“What do you mean?” Church asked.

“I mean I’ve been up for bail for weeks.” Tex snapped. “My hearing is coming up! What. Took you so long?” 

Church turned his head to look at her “...what took you so long after Flowers died?” 

“Butch Flowers?” she echoed. “Why should I have given a fuck about him? You got hit by a truck and I dragged my ass out here the next fucking day.” 

“Oh. Awesome. I had to get hit by a truck for you to to want to see me again!” Church half shouted. “I suppose dragging myself around half dead because I had no fucking clue how to change the inventory orders, or how to hire someone to take Flowers’ place or, for fucks sake, Tex, we don’t even get weekends. And I had to get hit by a truck before you cared.” 

Tex was silent for a moment, then, quietly “we didn’t exactly part under the best of terms.” 

“Which is weird.” Church answered “because I don’t exactly remember that being my fault.” 

Tex snorted and Church was fully aware he’d made a fundamental mistake. “Of course you don’t. You never own anything being your fault. Always looking for something else to blame. Someone else for you to hate.” 

“Okay, that is just not fucking true and you know it.” Church responded. “I take responsibility for a lot of shit that isn’t my fault. But how you and me ended? I’m not owning that one.” 

“Public proposals are manipulative and shitty and I can’t believe you were enough of a dumbass to try it!” Tex shouted and Church winced toward his steering wheel and the drivers side window. “...you knew we have a complicated history. You knew I have complicated feelings about marriage. And you blew your credit on the expensive ring and went for the public proposal.” 

“Actually, I established my credit on that ring. I made every payment.” Church corrected, earning Tex’s mocking face that he knew from experience meant she was probably going to hit him in the back of the head if he didn’t give an answer she wanted to hear soon. “But things had been going so well...we’d been talking about forever. Talking seriously. Kids, retirement. Then you got that big scholarship and...I got scared.” 

“So you take me to a nice dinner, and you drop the ring in a champagne glass.” Tex snapped petulantly. 

“...and you’d have said yes?” Church asked, sheepishly, doubtfully, maybe a little hopefully.

“I would’ve run to the bathroom and puked for half an hour, then ordered the most expensive thing on the menu to make you pay for it, worn the ring the entire dinner, took it off in the car and had a long fucking talk with you about why marriage is…” she trailed off

“I know what your problem with marriage is.” Church snapped. “Okay? I get it. I get exactly what your problem with marriage is. You have never seen a successful fucking marriage and you think it inevitably kills all romance and destroys relationships, right?” 

“That’s not…” 

“C’mon…” 

“Let me out.” 

“Can we just change the subject instead?” 

“That’ll work.” 

Church let the moment breathe, let Tex breathe. He’d gone too far. Crossed another line and now Tex felt trapped. He always hated when he made her feel trapped. Selfishly, because that was usually when she did the worst things to him. Honestly...because she deserved so much better than someone who kept fucking doing that to her. He’d promised a change of subject though, and once she had a few breaths space from this one, boy did he have a doozy of a subject to introduce to her. “So.” he said after a moment. “The newbie...Caboose?” Tex nodded for him to continue, and Church smirked “shot the manager of Blood Red in the face with a paintball gun.” For a moment Tex stared at him in total disbelief, just totally not accepting this had actually happened. But under the disbelief was a layer of amusement and all he needed to do was convince her. For once, being a horrible liar was about to work in his favor. “Tex. Seriously. Caboose fucking shot him in the face with a goddamn paintball gun. I got paint spatter on my shirt. For like two seconds we all thought it was real and the paint was blood. It was fucking terrifying.” 

There it was, the light in her eyes that Church hadn’t realized how much he’d missed until exactly this moment as the laugh bubbled up from her effort to contain it until she was first chuckling, then actively cracking up laughing. A few moments later he’d joined her, laughing. It felt amazing, letting go of the bullshit and the stress and just dealing with how fucking ridiculous what had happened yesterday was. He laughed about yesterday, he laughed about the last few months. Hell, he laughed about his whole fucking life. He laughed so hard that his vision started to blur with tears and the best part was...Tex was laughing the whole time too. And for once, not at him. It was great. 

“Remind me to congratulate the kid.” Tex said finally. “That sounds amazing.” 

“Congratulate?” Church choked through his laughter. “Tex, no! The only reason I don’t want to fire him for it is to spite Tucker.” 

“Give the kid some credit.” Tex argued lightly. “Mistakes aside, he knows who his enemies are.” 

“Okay, but…” Church argued, the ache through his abdomen from having used muscles laughing that had gone fairly neglected for a while and oh yeah, just barely healed ribs from recently being hit by a truck, starting to settle in through his body. Everything fucking hurt. “Technically, we shouldn’t have enemies.” 

“Technically? Church. It’s a business that’s nearly identical to yours literally a block over. You literally share a backyard.” 

“Honestly I never thought of sharing a backyard with someone as a good reason to hate them.” Church argued, a bit more seriously than he’d completely intended. “I don’t want to be enemies with them. Like, rival businesses. whatever. I’m pissed about the sausage but C’mon...Donut’s a good guy. I think. It was an accident.” 

“So you’re defending them?” Tex demanded “Seriously? You. You’re trying to go all… make love not war? On professional rivals?” 

“Yes!” were they back to yelling already? Church felt like his sides were going to explode or implode or something. Whatever it was he hadn’t ached this bad since he had access to a morphine drip to fix it with. He probably shouldn’t be driving. He blinked hard a few times and he could focus for a few minutes. “Tex...I...the real reason I waited so long to bail you out wasn’t because I was bitter because you took so long to get your ass down here.” he paused, then admitted “okay, it was a little bit me being bitter. But it was mostly because I wasn’t sure I should bail you out.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Tex demanded. 

“I mean Donut had eye surgery because of you, alright?” Church demanded. “Like...Caboose was sane enough to use a fucking paintball gun but an inch in any direction and you could’ve killed the poor kid. For a mistake.” 

“He stole from you, Church.” Tex argued, but Church knew that tone, she knew she was being a bitch. She knew she was wrong. “Why are you defending him? You use to be...you use to be different.” 

“I really didn’t.” Church answered. 

“I never pegged you for a nice guy.” Tex snapped. 

Church snorted “Maybe that’s because you were constantly a bitch to me.” he retorted.

“I saw O’Malley in jail.” 

Church pulled over. She’d said it just to be a bitch, that had to be it. She was demonstrating, she wasn’t proving anything. It was a non sequitur, so she was just being reactionary. Literally, there was no reason to have just said that. She was seriously just trying to make him act like a jerk. Safely on the side of the road, he didn’t move. He didn’t even turn to look at her because his entire body hurt too fucking much. “You’re a fucking liar. You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” 

“Telling the goddamn truth.” Tex answered, straight faced and hard edged, glaring at him. He could feel her glaring at him. “O’Malley was in for destruction of public property. We saw each other once or twice. He got out about a week ago.” 

“So you’re telling me O’Malley has been in Blood Gulch for god knows how long. He fucked up some shit, went to jail for it, and now he’s out again?” Church demanded for clarification. 

“Yep. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Tex answered, almost mockingly. Then she pressed “still feeling like such a nice guy there, Church?” 

“That’s different and you know it.” Church answered. 

“He was worried about you, you know.” Tex responded. “When I told him you got hit by a truck.” 

“You fucking told him?!” Church demanded “You know that means he’s coming after me now, right? God DAMN it Bethany!” 

Tex punched him squarely in the ribs with a sharp “don’t CALL me that.” and Church doubled over the steering wheel in agony. Right. Never, ever, under any circumstances, use Tex’s given name. She’d been given the nickname forever ago and never went by anything else, even professionally she went by Tex and so yeah, bringing up her given name? Dick move. So was telling his fucking evil cousin that he was in some kind of weakened state to be picked off at will. 

“Okay seriously.” Church gasped, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the pain. Apparently that trick didn’t actually work because he was starting to think it just made it worse. “I fucking hate you. Oh god…” he unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled into backseat, slowly, each movement a new exercise in pain. “You drive. Please.” 

“What, you trust me?” Tex asked sarcastically.

“Oh my god this was never about trusting you, Tex!” Church protested. 

“You said you thought I belonged in jail!” 

“I said I wasn’t sure now please please fucking drive me home?” he could only plead. 

Tex sighed, unbuckled, got behind the wheel, and pulled into traffic without buckling up again. Not that Church was buckled. But then again, he couldn’t even really breathe. After a few moments she asked “are you sure I shouldn’t take you to the hospital?” 

“And tell them what? I bailed you out of jail so you punched me in my still-healing ribs?” Church argued. “Just take me home, Tex. I have painkiller there and I can go the fuck to sleep.” 

“And where should I go?” 

He paused for a moment, then commented “I thought you could stay with me?” his voice was a bit quieter than it should be. Okay yes, he was showing a little bit of vulnerability that wasn’t born of absolute blinding agony. Which he knew was basically asking to get kicked in the balls. 

So when Tex answered with an equally quiet “Okay, sure.” Church was at first briefly confused. He then concluded as they pulled into his neighborhood that he was going to die. Because why the fuck else was she being nice to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Crossover Characters appear in this Chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Morning After.   
> Also, Dexter Grif's oldest and dearest friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason this fic really ought to be tagged as Church/Tex, as it's more then implied they had sex between chapters 9 and 10 and they even share a kiss on-screen. That said, the relationship is so far from the focus of the story I'm uncomfortable putting it in the chex tag...and I'm not sure how positive the story is as a whole toward the relationship. So I'll just give warning in the individual section. Let me know if you really think I should update tags.

It was way too warm when Church woke up. He also felt way too good and there had to be some explanation for these facts that wasn’t…

Nope. There she was. 

Holy fuck, Tex was hot all the time but DAMN she was gorgeous when she was sleeping. She would also punch him in the ribs again for watching her sleep and he had been out just long enough that the pain killer had done its job in his sleep, probably with some help from some endorphins he’d been missing for longer than he cared to admit and hadn’t worn off yet. Still, she was just… she actually looked sweet. 

Which meant he really needed to stop looking at her before she woke up. In fact, the way she shifted just then, face crinkling slightly, she was rousing. Church looked away and sat up, looking over the edge of the bed first, then shifting down and wiggling his feet in search for his pants. Or at the very least his underwear. 

Yep, underwear still at the foot of his bed. Church used his foot to tug it farther up, to about his hip, then got his hands on them and pulled his underwear on without much trouble. Of course, he’d had to move around enough by then that Tex was fairly awake by the time he laid back down. So when he looked at her, she was laying down with one arm under her head and staring at him with a bemused expression. “Hi.” she greeted, borderline mockingly.

Church rolled his eyes. “Good morning.” he greeted, and they actually held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then he looked away and chuckled. 

“Morning.” she answered, then she rolled over and sat up, locating her clothes with more ease than him, understandably as she’d been in control over where basically all of the clothes had gone. In fact, she’d had control over...literally everything last night. Which wasn’t anything outside the norm but he wanted to pretend it was because he had broken ribs and couldn’t even put up a token effort. So he sat up a little and exercised just a little bit of control over the situation by watching her get dressed. Which, of course, she did efficiently enough there was little joy in it for him.

Church rolled onto his back, expecting her to leave once she was dressed. So when instead she crawled back onto the bed over the covers he turned to give her a surprised look. The look she was giving him was expectant. Which meant it was on him to continue the conversation. He just wasn’t sure how to do that without sinking them right back into an argument. So he just took a deep breath and looked at her. Sometimes, he wished she’d smile more, but he was vaguely aware how fucking weird it would look if she did. Her face rested naturally, composed, maybe even stoic. She looked like she could read a situation at a glance and she could. Church would pity people who underestimated her if he weren’t so busy wondering how the fuck they did that because so much as looking in her eyes once made it crystal clear why you shouldn’t. “Look.” he finally began seriously. “I know you can take care of yourself, and you do. Well. That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.”

She laughed. Which, okay, was fair. Because “Why would you worry about me?” then “never mind, I forgot, you’re you. Basically all you do is worry, swear, complain…” she trailed off and laughed, at him, of course, as usual.

Church rolled his eyes. “Not to mention...I mean, C’mon, Tex. You know what they say about revenge.” 

“It’s...best served cold?” Tex tried, knowingly lamely, and Church rolled his eyes at her. It wasn’t often she let herself be a dork. 

Only, he realized as he began talking, when she thought he was being a bigger one. “That it means you should dig two graves? One for the person you’re after and one for yourself? Ever hear that expression, Tex?” 

Tex snorted. And shook her head, and propped herself up on one elbow to look down at him. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously!” Church protested. “Tex, you...you could’ve killed someone. You went to jail! You could go to prison still if he presses charges and all over what’s basically an accident that, if it’s anybody’s fault, it’s basically Caboose’s.” 

“What, so I should go after Caboose?” Tex asked

“What?” Church asked, not following the thought for a second, then “God, no! Tex. ...fuck. I’m just saying...I’m just saying I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all. And maybe it’s too late for that. Maybe that’s even my fault a little bit I don’t know. ...I just…” he paused, unsure how to continue. He’d been able to put about as much into that as he put into anything and was pretty much done with emotional content for...the year. “I don’t know, Tex. What do you want me to say?” 

She was right there with an answer, not a hint of hesitation. “Say that you’ll start getting off your ass and doing things instead of stressing about them until you get ulcers?” 

Church bit back a comment about how the last time he got off his ass and did something she broke up with him for it. He held that comment back for several beats, breathing through his nose and letting the moment pass until he said “hey guess what, even shitty government insurance covers ulcers. You know what no insurance plan covers anywhere? Felony records and prison time.” 

“That bitch isn’t gonna press charges, Church.” Tex reassured. “I’m not going to prison.”

“THIS time.” Church gave. “If he doesn’t press charges, you’re not going to prison this time. But what about next time? What about the time after that? What if next time they don’t call the police, they just pull a gun?” 

“I know what this is actually about.” Tex stated, her tone edging into that one tone. The one that meant they were only a few sentences away from breaking into an actual argument again. Goddamnit, he hadn’t wanted to argue with her again. So he kept quiet, but then she pushed “You think I’m starting to sound like O’Malley again.” 

Church hissed and flopped hard onto his back, scrubbing his fingers hard over his face and grumbling through his hands. “God DAMN it, Tex, why did you have to mention him? I was calm again.” He took a long deep breath, but didn’t bother sitting up. “Yes. I hate that you and my evil cousin manage to ever be on the same page about anything even though you say you hate him more than I do.” 

“I do.” she interjected

“So why were you talking to him?” Church demanded

“I don’t know!” she snapped “Why does anybody talk to him?”

And Church deflated, because that was a damn good question. One he knew the answer to unfortunately. O’Malley had a way of getting into your head. Of drawing you in until you were telling him everything that had ever bothered you and then turning you on it. Of setting you on a path of revenge that there was sometimes no coming back from. He’d fucked up a lot of people, and it almost never turned around on him. It was a fucking miracle when he actually got caught doing shit himself, usually he’d twisted some poor kid into doing it for him. For a while that poor kid had been Tex. “Okay. You’ve got me there.” he admitted. “...and yeah, it pisses me off to think he has a shot at drawing you back in.” 

“Which he doesn’t.” 

“Except you just basically said he does.” 

Tex fumed for a moment, but in the way she only did on the rare occasion when she knew he was right. It would almost be worth a victory dance if the situation weren’t so serious. “I hate him, Church. You know how much I hate him. After everything he did...to me...to your family...if I hate any man in your family more then your father, it’s probably him. But...in his own twisted way, he does care about you.” 

“Oh. So you mean it’s Donut I have to worry about him finding someone to put a bullet in.” Church snapped sarcastically. “Or Caboose. Or hell, even you? Tex…” 

“I get it. He’s bad news.” Tex answered. “and...fine. I’m sorry I told him you’d been hit by a truck.” 

Church sighed heavily and sat up, reaching for her hand. “Thank you.” To his surprise, she actually took his hand. He pressed his luck and tugged her in to kiss her softly. She returned the kiss, surprisingly gentle. He would’ve done anything for it to last forever. It was the kind of moment people sold their souls for. When she pulled back finally he brushed her hair back from her face and confessed “I’ve missed too many funerals, Tex. It...it’s bullshit.” 

She smiled sadly, pecked his lips again, short and hard and not at all sweet. Then she pulled away and stood up. “I’m gonna get going. ...try not to worry so much.” 

And that was it. Just a total dismissal and she was gone. He watched her go, because really. Anyone who didn’t keep his eye on her back as long as possible was just dumb or trying to prove they weren’t attracted to women. Then he relaxed as much as he could for as long as he could, savoring the fact that at least he’d gotten a damn apology. 

\-----

 

It started just like any other transaction with any other stranger. Okay, so a stranger that Donut couldn’t look at without giggling like a girl. Fucking Christ, that boys closet was paper thin if he thought he was in one at all. Grif didn’t even know if Donut was suppose to be out or not but if not he really had some work to do to hide it. Maybe if he weren’t so quick to pour his heart out to anyone who would listen for thirty seconds or share intimate details about his body that no one wanted to know Grif would actually be willing to have conversations with the kid. As it was, the minute an even halfway attractive man walked in, Grif had to make sure Donut had some sort of busywork to keep him out from underfoot.

Which meant that for half of more than half of his recent shifts, Grif had to pay more attention then he ever wanted to to the attractiveness of his male customers. It was annoying as fuck. Luckily he was secure enough to be objective about these things, and he managed to shout for Donut to clear off this time before the annoying giggling actually started. He was still too late, as Donut just sort of hovered while the customer looked over the small selection of goods with understandable skepticism. No one fit shopped at places like this voluntarily. 

So when he started pulling donuts from the stand Grif watched in surprise, then turned his attention to literally anything else. He’d already checked out this guy way more then he had any right or reason to. He heard more then saw him get into the refrigerators and finally the man came to the counter with a couple of frozen dinners, four donuts, and a six pack of beer. 

“Company?” Grif asked, mostly joking for the sake of conversation. 

“Actually, if the beer doesn’t last me all week I am kicking my kids’ ass.” the customer joked. He was too young to have an adult kid, so Grif laughed because he knew the feeling. The pre teen that stole your beer… at least Grif hoped that’s what he meant. The customer offered his ID before Grif could even ask for it. The first thing he noticed was they were right about the same age, give or take a couple of months. It didn’t stand out too much until he saw the name. 

“Richard Grayson?” he didn’t realize he was saying the name out loud until he’d actually said it out loud. He saw the customer tense and look up at him expectantly. It wasn’t fear in his eyes so much as it was a kind of wariness Grif couldn’t completely understand what could possibly be the cause. “Grayson?” Grif found himself echoing as the name brought up memories he’d thought were buried over a decade ago. Literal childhood memories of actual personifications of grace in flight. The only person his own age he’d interacted with being the energetic youngest of a whole, intact family who, now that Grif looked and remembered, had eyes the exact shade of blue as the customer who shared his name. The customer who blinked somewhere between blankly and questioningly as Grif handed back his ID and introduced “I’m...Dexter Grif. Did you…” he trailed off, not totally sure how to ask that question. 

Except the stranger lit up when he heard his name. Grinning suddenly and brightly “Grow up in Haley’s Circus with you? Yes! Dexter! How are you? Why are you working...in a place like this?” 

That was a way more enthusiastic reaction then he’d expected. Grif found himself laughing with surprise as he said “Had to work somewhere. Couldn’t just follow the circus around forever, you know?” 

Grayson laughed as well. “You could have. Haley loved you guys.” 

That was the moment that Grif realized that Grayson remembered their childhood very differently than he did, and it skewed his laughter. A pained note. “Yeah...no...not really.” he answered. 

Grayson also sobered a little. “Yeah...I guess you guys did have it kinda rough, didn’t you?” he reflected, then he glanced around. “I mean I guess I shouldn’t judge. Full time?” 

“And then some.” Grif laughed, or rather, tried to. It came out drier than he meant it too. He couldn’t even hide his disgust for his life when catching up with his best friend from childhood. Before it could be examined too closely he redirected “What about you? What are you doing with your life?” 

Grayson ducked his head and laughed a little bit, actually blushing some as he tugged his wallet open again, commenting “I’m not sure you’re going to believe this…” and showing Grif his wallet. Grif recoiled hard when he saw the Blood Gulch Police Department badge inside and heard the self deprecating “Yeah...police detective...it’s a really long story.” 

“You became a cop.” Grif said in disbelief. “No fucking way you became a cop!?” he wasn’t angry, just shocked, and ended up laughing harder in disbelief. 

He wasn’t the only disbelieving part. Donut was watching in shock too. In fact, shock seemed like the general reaction whenever Grif bonded with a customer. Even if it was a friend he’d had for years like Ruby or a friend he was reconnecting with for the first time in over a decade like Grayson everyone always seemed so surprised he had friends. Or maybe just surprised he had hot friends. And, of course, he ran into the currently in his life female friend with the straight co worker in the building and the long lost male friend with the gay co worker in the building. Because Grif’s life hated him and wanted to fuck him on literally every level possible. “I believe he became a cop.” Donut interjected.

Grayson blushed darker. “Yeah...it just made sense when I moved out here. Who knows? Sidewinder has a decent law school I might still end up there but for now…” 

Grif nodded, then added “You said you have a kid to support?” his words were punctuated with a pointed look at Donut.

The pointed look at Donut didn’t pay off, and instead the other guy just commented “Awww, I like kids. That has to be tough, being a single parent and a police detective…” and now Grif was doing the casual hand check on guy customers and old friends at that. Seriously. Fuck Donut. 

Grayson, for his part, was turning a pretty hilarious shade of pink. So at least he was aware the obviously gay guy was hitting on him. Then he explained “I...really just call him that because it’s easier than explaining. He’s...the guy that took me in after my parents died? He’s that guy’s son. But...I have custody of him right now.” 

“How’d that happen?” Grif asked reflexively, wishing he had a story half as interesting as it sounded like Graysons was, then feeling bad for wishing that because he knew just from the memory of the day it happened, a memory that had grown vague and distant for him that he could see from the haunted flash that briefly clouded Grayson’s sharp blue eyes was fresh as ever for his old friend that interesting usually meant horrific. “I mean...you don’t have to tell us…”

“It’s okay.” Grayson responded, in a tone that sounded mostly genuine but Grif knew from too much experience meant it totally wasn’t and he was just answering for the curious. “Um. He...as far as we can tell he died too. Somewhat recently. Officially it’s unconfirmed and I probably shouldn’t say anything more then that since…” 

He trailed off and Grif decided to give him a break with a quick “Yeah I get it.” 

“I don’t.” Donut interjected “Do you think he’s alive out there somewhere? What happened?” 

“Donut.” Grif snapped warningly

“What?” Donut protested “I’m curious!” 

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Grif argued, then turned to Dick “I still can’t believe you became a cop. Even if it is just a stopover to law school.” 

Grayson shrugged. “Yeah well...I’ve changed a lot since we were kids, Dexter.” 

Donut startled a little and Grif shrugged. “Me too, I guess. About the only person who calls me that anymore is my sister. It’s Grif.” It was an introduction, of sorts. A reintroduction really. So Grif offered his hand and Grayson shook it. 

“Good to meet this version of you then, Grif.” he said, his tone bright despite its almost forced seriousness. “I have to say that now that I know you work here I feel a lot better about my choice to shop here. Damian wanted to try the place over on A street but…” 

Grif wasn’t proud of it, but he and Donut reacted in almost perfect unison. Donut went with the “NonononononoNO!…” 

While Grif stuck with the hopefully more dignified and certainly more forceful “oh FUCK no.” 

Grayson was obviously taken aback by their intensity. He actually took a step back. “O...kay...is it that bad there?” 

“One of their guys shot our manager in the face with a paintball gun on Sunday.” Grif reported, voice hard, a lot more anger in his tone than he expected. 

“A girl came to help them from corporate, and she decided the best way to do that was to almost kill me!” Donut shrieked, and Grif winced, but nodded when Donut added “I needed eye surgery!”

“I had to rush him to the hospital.” Grif added, with a gesture at Donut. “...and Sarge? our Manager? Got a concussion from the paintball. Yeah. Those guys are the worst kinds of assholes.” 

Grayson pushed air out through his teeth in a noise just short of a heavy sigh and raked a hand through his hair in something like disbelief. “That...yeah. That’s gonna be tough. The problem is...Damian’s not exactly the kind of person I can tell just not to do something. Or he’ll make it a point to do exactly that. It’s really better if I just...keep my mouth shut and hope he doesn’t find a reason to actually bother going. I mean, we live closer to here anyway.” 

Grif looked up fairly suddenly and asked “Where do you live?” 

Gesturing out the door, Grayson answered “Just a block that way, not even really. Across the street, you know the dirt path driveway toward the railroad tracks? We’re in an apartment over a garage two houses from the tracks.” 

“Oh, hey, that is close.” Grif commented, then he added “I’m kinda jealous. I wish I lived that close to work.” 

“You probably have a much, much nicer place.” Grayson responded, then he glanced down. “You know...I just realized...I need to get home before these dinners thaw. I’m really sorry but...I’ll be around?” 

Grif nodded in agreement, helped finish the checkout and Grayson was gone a few moments later. He was hardly even out the door when Donut gave a huge, dreamy sigh and Grif could only respond with “Don’t even think about it.” before wandering toward the back, ensuring he had his cigarettes in his pockets and snatching a package of snack cakes from a shelf on his way back. “I’m going on break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover Characters Appearing in this Chapter -  
> At long last! Dick Grayson Appears!   
> As you can see, he has a more significant role then most of the other customers. He and Damian Wayne.   
> They're implied to be from the era of DC continuity when, canonically, Dick took over as Batman while Bruce was presumed dead. Obviously in this 'verse he doesn't do that. He takes Damian to Blood Gulch instead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian Wayne has a really great morning.  
> Simmons has a really bad morning.  
> These facts are not connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why I edited/posted three chapters in one day, it was as a birthday present to Turntechgodliness (AmberzillaRex) who is amazing and writes amazing things. Happy Birthday friend!

They’d argued last night over dinner, so Damian didn’t give him the chance to argue today. Or to drag him to any lame public school in this crappy little town. He left the house before Dick was awake and started along the railroad tracks for at least six miles. It was freezing cold at this hour, and the sweater he wore for warmth soaked through. So when he climbed the hillside to watch the last of the bright colors of sunrise fade into the daylight, Damian stripped off the sweater and tied it around his waist, shivering. 

He jogged most of the way back to the house, but only most. He detoured from the railroad at A street and walked down to the market. Blood Gulch Blues, the sign said. He’d wanted to come here the night before. Dick’s choice to go to the one closer to the house, with the design nightmare sign printed in illegible font, had been part of why Damian’s mood had been sour enough to earn such an extreme early excursion. It was a block over, literally. Damian could see the back of the other store behind this one as he started up the steps. 

The smell of strong coffee and fried food struck him instantly when he pushed the door open. After that, the day-old chemical clean smell that came from having mixed your floor cleaners a little too strong. The store was cramped, multiple aisles too close together, hardly one person wide. No room to maneuver at all, extremely claustrophobic. A security camera over the back door was completely stationary, focused primarily on the cash register and front door. 

In other words, Damian had involuntarily imagined about ten ways to rob the place before he’d noticed the employee stocking the hot food warmer with hash browns. She was a tall woman, tall and muscular without losing traditional attractiveness. Blond hair, dark eyes. In short, Dick’s type. Point to get him to shop here. ...not that Damian actually wanted anything purchased from either of these stores. Just if he had to use one of them, better the one with the actually recognizable and pronounceable label. “Morning.” she greeted, voice neutral. 

A woman in customer service who didn’t put on airs of false cheerfulness and joy? Damian flashed a hint of a genuine smile and responded with a simple “morning” went for the coffee machine. He had just picked up a small cup when he felt the woman close distance behind him. Strange that he felt and not heard her. What kind of training did she have? He moved steadily, as if he hadn’t noticed her and put the cup under where he stream of hot caffeine would come from. As he was reaching to push the button, the employee reached out to catch his wrist. 

Damian side stepped at the last possible second, cup and hand dragged over six inches to the white chocolate vanilla bean mocha spout in the same machine. He completed the motion, pressing the button and getting fluffy, over sugared and ridiculous coffee instead plain of coffee, leaving the employee standing over him dumbly. He smirked at her and pulled his cup out from under the stream only a moment after releasing the button, just after the last of the chocolate saturated caffeine stopped before the stream of extra hot water, letting that pour down the catcher. He almost laughed as her dumbfounded expression turned to a glare that could best be described as murderous and while he put a lid on his drink she spoke in a voice only barely pitched above a growl “You’re a little young for mocha, aren’t you kid?” the employee drawled. 

“I mean, I could pour it out and waste product…” Damian offered, snapping the lid firmly into place. “Somehow I think you’d rather I buy it. And a blueberry muffin please.” She was actually sulking when she walked back behind the counter. Clearly biting back quite a few choice thoughts for him. A professional, even if not entirely courteous. She’d moved quietly enough too, and watching her now, he could read it in every inch of her. He selected the breakfast pastry, yes the blueberry muffin, he missed home. Then, as he pulled a bill from deep in his wallet to pay for both he asked the question that was only obvious to someone with his history. “So where did you train?” 

The woman startled and looked at him seriously. “Excuse me?” she demanded, taking his money and making the proper amount of change. He held out his hand for it but she left it, rather passive aggressively, on the counter instead.

“You move completely silently.” Damian answered. “You carry yourself with the confidence of someone use to getting their way, and you have a pretty solid build.” 

“EXCUSE ME?!” she shouted this time, and Damian took an involuntary step back, realizing belatedly how his phrasing must have sounded. She wasn’t wearing makeup or anything, how was he suppose to know she was sensitive about her appearance? 

It had been a genuine mistake, so he gave ground, raised his hands and said “I’d know a martial artist of your caliber anywhere, on sight. Where did you train?” 

She stared at him for a moment, then for two. Finally she answered his question with a question. “What’s your deal, kid?” 

Damian considered the question for several moments, then answered “I had rudimentary knowledge of several, if not actually most martial arts forms before I could actually form long-term memories. My mother and grandfather taught me from the day I could stand on my own.” he lifted the cup in almost a toast and spoke mockingly “so I think I’m big enough for mocha.” then he took a sip. Then he almost gagged on it. Too sweet. Oh god too sweet. He’d had desserts made by Dick’s ex girlfriend less sweet this this. Worse the employee must have seen the face that he made because now she looked amused at his expense. He swallowed hard and glared at her equally hard. 

Then she burst out laughing. “I...I’m sorry. I just. Wow. You...you come in here, go right for the coffee like an adult. Throw out that...badass, fake sounding line...and then make that face…” and she was laughing again. Which, okay. He’d made enough progress with Dick to be able to understand that he deserved it. Then she exhaled, stopped laughing and admitted “um. I...uh, I actually trained with my mom too. For a little while, as a kid. My mom and sister. Then...random dojos. Wherever would have me. Recently it’s just cage fighting when I can get away from my day job.” 

He could hear the surprise with herself in her voice. She trusted him. He’d created camaraderie between them. Somehow. Well look at that. Damian Wayne had made a friend. Dick would be so proud. “I’d like to see that.” he confessed. “I’m guessing they’d arbitrarily make me wait another few years before participating?” 

“Nothing arbitrary about it.” the employee responded. “However much experience you have, you’re still what? Ten? Maybe twelve?” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter and met his eye. Damian held her gaze, although after a moment he found that difficult. Her eyes were dark, but sharp. Deep. His stomach dropped because in that moment she reminded him of no one so much as… “Violence isn’t for kids. Martial Arts, Training. Discipline. Sure, that’s for kids. Violence though? Actually fighting other people? Out of anger or even just for money… you need to wait for that.”

“Why?” he asked automatically. “Everyone keeps saying that and I don’t see a reason why. I’m better prepared than any given adult getting into it.” 

She smiled. She actually smiled, and it looked weird on her face. Soft somehow and yet sharp at the same time. “You deserve better.” Damian just studied her for several beats. Finally he picked up his change and pocketed it. He was going to continue the conversation, ask her how she knew that. What made her so sure he wasn’t a horrible person? Of course then she asked the inevitable adult question. “Hey...why aren’t you in school right now?” 

“I just moved here.” Damian answered. “I’m trying to get my guardian to homeschool me, like I was before. He’s...resistant.” 

“Can’t blame him.” she responded instantly, earning his quizzical expression, and perhaps a harsh glare under it. “Look, kid, I don’t know your situation. But the clothes, the way you talk, living with a guardian instead of family...it all suggests falling on hard times. Blood Gulch isn’t a place someone with other options ends up and...homeschooling is expensive. Your guardian is probably busting his ass trying to take care of you and just needs you out of his hair eight hours a day in a way that won’t get him or you in trouble with the police.” 

Damian’s face broke into a broad smirk as she fell into a verbal trap. “My brother is the police. A detective, new hire onto BGPD. We’re not hurting financially ether.” he reported, more as a counter argument than anything. 

Somehow though, her expression didn’t reflect the victory he’d anticipated though. “...and you expected him to have time to homeschool you?” Damian blinked, then she laughed “kid...I have made it a habit...a really, really bad habit, to exclusively date men who take their jobs home with them. I’m going to tell you right now. Police Detectives are the absolute worst. He’s probably a stress case who’s going to die from complications of a heart condition before he’s fifty.” 

She didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t know. More importantly, she didn’t know any better. Damian knew that. Every logical part of his mind knew that, all the way through. The logical part of his mind also knew that her words were a cruel thing to say to anyone, much less to a child. Yes, he’d invited her to speak to him as an equal by implication and attitude. She had no way to know. Logic shut down entirely at this conclusion. White hot pain ruled instead. Through his mind with her words and directly into the core of his being. Of course, as with most pain, Damian transformed it and promptly lashed out. There was a pen on the counter, simple black ink ballpoint that was probably for signing credit card receipts. It was also likely the millionth of its kind and stollen on a regular basis. 

Damian grabbed the pen in his fist and jammed it hard down at her hand. She startled and got her hand out of the way in time, but the tip of the pen did gouge a deep gash in the wood of the countertop. Damian shifted his weight hard enough to snap the pen and dropped his palm open to throw his body over the counter feet first. The back wall was too close even for his small frame to complete an arc. If he’d planted his hand on the edge of the counter he could have managed it but he hadn’t so Damian was forced to drop his feet farther back from her then he’d wanted to. 

His body was intercepted on the way down. She hadn’t backed away the way he’d expected to, The way most people did when another human body flew at theirs. Instead she moved in and caught him, lifting him from the counter with ease and breaking his momentum. Then she set him, not gently, back on the countertop butt first beside the point of sale machine. The impact jarred him just hard enough to snap him out of his reactionary rage. She held him in place for only a few beats and then as they both felt his breathing slowly return to normal she let go. Then, to his surprise, she was the first to say “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I mean...so was your reaction. You owe me ten cents for the pen, by the way. But...what I said was low.” 

Damian sighed heavily and swung his legs around. He realized only after he’d done it that it put his back to her. Holding for a beat like that, he hoped she understood the power of the fact that he’d unthinkingly given her that. Then he asked “Did you mean it?” before hopping off of the counter and turning to face him.

She sighed heavily. “I might have been projecting a little.” she admitted. “But cops are usually A-types, and they sure as hell don’t make detectives without being A-types. And trust me, kid...A-types aren’t good teachers. You don’t want to put more on their plates. In fact, if there’s a single responsibility in the world they’re willing to pass on? Consider it a goddamn miracle.” 

Damian felt the smirk become a genuine smile as it formed, then he asked “Thinking of the cop you dated?” 

She shook her head. “More recent than that. Not that it’s your business.” 

“Oh it’s like that.” 

“Yes it is. You tried to stab me with a pen, I’m not telling you any more about my love life.” 

“It was just a pen.” Damian protested.

“A pen you still owe me ten cents for.” Damian took a dime from the change she’d given him and tossed it with the remains of the broken pen on the counter. She fished the dime out, then began cleaning up the broken bits of plastic. She left the ink to stain though. Once she’d thrown away the bits of plastic she looked at him and informed him “That wasn’t bad. But I have the size advantage by...a lot. So I’m not exactly sure what you were planning to do in close quarters.”

“I had to assume I was faster than you.” the answer came fast because it was total bull. Damian hadn’t been thinking at all at the time. Whatever she’d actually said, Damian had heard that he’d be alone and it would be his fault and he couldn’t let that stand. “I’d hoped to disable at least one leg before you could react.” 

She considered for a moment, then nodded. “You expected me to try to get room to attack.” 

“I definitely didn’t expect you to grab me and plant me on the counter.” Damian answered, amused. 

She sighed, but there was laughter in it. “You’re still a kid. And...I’ll be honest. I’m actually out of jail for assault on bail right now? I wasn’t going to actually fight you.” 

“You were in jail for assault?” Damian echoed. 

“The charges are going to be dropped, I’ll be fine. It’s not like I did any permanent damage.” the response was fast, considered, and obviously had been said way too many times. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Damian shook his head, smiling. Then he looked down and realized that the too-sweet coffee had, ultimately ended up wasted anyway. As had the blueberry muffin that was currently lying on the floor soaking in the same too sweet coffee. “Um…” Damian commented, moving steadily away from the fast growing mess and checking to ensure it hadn’t ended up on his shoes.

“Huh?” She leaned over, then swore, and walked around the counter and moved to get cleaning supplies. She glanced up at the clock and commented “If that were literally anywhere but the main walkway I’d leave it for Tucker to clean up when he gets here…” she grumbled. Damian retreated to the far end of the room by the same coffee machine to watch her actually work. He almost felt bad about the mess. It hadn’t really been her fault he’d lost it the way he had. Really the loss of control had been inexcusable in its own right. 

That and that alone was the only reason he deemed this inconvenience worthy of an “I’m sorry I...dropped everything when I jumped at you.” 

She eyed him over the mop she was currently wielding and asked “but you’re not sorry for jumping at me?” 

“My father was also a workaholic.” Damian explained, almost snapping at her, the past tense a carefully twisted verbal knife. “...and he’s who my guardian got it from. So...no. I’m not really sorry for that part.” 

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. I get that I can be a bitch sometimes.” Damian startled at her language and self deprecating self description she snorted a little and said “you know my…” she paused, then shook her head and said “this guy...warned me about that...just a couple days ago. How my...not thinking things through could get me into serious trouble. Somehow I don’t think he was thinking about pre teen martial artists though.” 

“This guy?” Damian echoed meaningfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Still not talking to you about my love life.” she responded, ringing out the mop in the bucket again. 

“Still.” Damian countered. “I can assume by ‘this guy’ you mean ‘this stress case’ then?” She looked up at him, glaring and he added “Did I forget to mention I live with a detective?” sarcastically by way of explanation. 

“Are you trying to give me an out?” She asked after a moment. “So I don’t have to admit he was right?” 

Damian shrugged. She wasn’t half bad at deduction ether. “I don’t even know your name.” he commented. “Also...personal lives are boring. Really boring. I only started talking to you because you’re obviously skilled.” 

“Call me Tex.” she responded, putting away the cleaning supplies and setting out a wet floor sign. 

“Damian.” he introduced simply. Followed by “I live across the street.” he paused, then clarified “Well, across First Street.” 

She thought for a second, then blinked and asked “by the railroad tracks?” He nodded, and she further clarified “Across from…”

“Yep.” 

“Hey, the guy I assaulted works there.” The woman, Tex, observed jokingly. 

“Was it because of their sign?” Damian asked, hopefully, and harshly.

“No. Actually. It was because he stole a crate of our sausage patties.” Tex answered, fairly deadpan. As if exchanges like this happened every day and were the most normal thing in the world. The look on her face though. She was so completely done with the situation he wanted to laugh at her. 

He refrained. Instead he observed “He stole from you, and then you went to jail?” Tex nodded and Damian shook his head. “I hate the world we live in sometimes.” 

Tex paused, considering. “You know...really...setting him up like that was probably a bad call though.” she admitted. “Maybe I should’ve been more direct. Put a challenge out there. You can’t press charges if you agree to an honest fight.” 

“What did you do instead?” 

Tex snorted. “Sabotaged their equipment.” she answered. “That whole place is a walking safety hazard. I barely had to touch anything.” 

Damian exhaled sharply in disbelief, spreading his hands wide. “How is that even assault? Honestly. I’m sure I have a better case against you then he does.”

“You do?” Tex asked, alarmed. “Kid, I didn’t even try to fight you. I just planted your ass back down after you tried to stab me with a fucking pen.” 

“Hands on my body, possible bruised tailbone.” Damian recided. “I mean obviously it was self defense in your case and, thank you for going easy on me. Can you imagine the property damage if we’d actually tried to fight behind the counter?” 

Tex, who was already behind the counter, looked around her and whistled. “We’d have needed a new shipment of cigarettes for sure.” 

“Not to mention replacing the glass.” Damian added, “I don’t even want to think about what I’d have done to your point of sale machine.” 

“Probably gotten your skull cracked open on it.” Tex retorted lightly. 

Damian considered that. “Don’t be so sure. Even if you pulled that off it looks flimsy enough you probably would’ve just cracked it open with my skull. And that’s a big if in the first place.” 

Tex studied the machine in question for a moment, then said “You’re right. I need to get us a new cash register.” 

Damian actually laughed. “Are you expecting things to get bad enough for that to be necessary?” he asked. 

Tex sighed heavily and reported in a tone that finally matched her exhausted expression “After I was sent to jail? One of our employees went over there and shot their manager in the face with a paintball gun. So if there’s any retribution? Yes.” She hesitated, then admitted “Oh...and my manipulative, insane, and violent cousin is in town, and also out of jail, and it’s my fault that he knows someone we both care about was hit by a truck earlier this month.” She tiled her head and nodded once, then sighed. “So...yeah. I think it might get that bad.” 

Damian studied her for a long moment, then commented “With that much on your plate, I’m surprised that you cared about a kid getting coffee.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m all heart.” she drawled sarcastically. “Worrying about everything and everyone all the time. Can’t help myself.” She’d clearly slipped into an imitation of someone else, as self mocking as it was of him. She shook her head, dismissing it. “Seriously though, how old are you? Coffee isn’t good for you.” 

“I’m ten, I know, and I don’t care.” Damian answered. “Caffeine is an addictive, psychoactive drug that’s readily and legally available to people of any age god only knows why.” he met her surprised gaze. “It’s over consumption is linked to a host of health problems and children are considered especially vulnerable to over consumption and developing later patterns of addiction. But…” he moved backwards toward the refrigerators and pulled out a tall can of energy drink “would you have said anything if I’d come to the counter with this instead?” 

Tex glared at him for a moment, then reported “Nobody likes a know it all, kid.” 

The words were almost a tangible punch to his stomach. They had only just met and yet somehow this woman knew all of his buttons. He wondered if he’d been doing the same to her. He wondered what the connection between the two of them was. He wondered if he was drawn to her because she reminded him of people he’d never see again. He replaced the energy drink. “People act like they have my best interests at heart.” he said, a bit harshly. “They act like they know what’s best for me, maybe they actually think they do. But usually they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. If no one likes me because of that…” he hesitated “...that’s not my problem. But it hardly makes me a know it all. It just means I know myself.” 

“You act so grown up.” Tex responded. “It’s not worth it. Being an adult is a bad idea. Nobody actually likes it. You should take advantage of being a kid while you have the chance.” 

Damian hesitated, then answered “If I thought for a second being a kid didn’t involve being treated like I was stupid, I’d go for it.” 

Tex just shrugged. 

They kept talking for hours. About being a kid, about being an adult. About varied martial arts disciplines, and eventually about varied weapons. Damian bought a breakfast burrito, microwaved and ate it. Tex was a good person, and if it came down to it would probably be a strong ally. Though it seemed she’d probably need him long before he needed her. Of course, it seemed that no matter how frank she was with him or willing to treat him as a peer in word, she couldn’t see past his age for five minutes in deed and they argued about it at least twice an hour. 

It was still the best morning Damian had had in months. 

\-----

It was easily the worst morning Simmons had had in months. Which said a lot because his hours had been cut during those months, he’d lost his ability to prep before his shifts started, and two of his co workers had sustained serious head injures. Comparatively, maybe it shouldn’t be considered the worst morning in months. It certainly felt like it though. Maybe because it was, in some ways, a culmination of what had gone wrong in the previous days. 

“Mr. Glass, please…” Simmons protested “You can’t be serious.” 

“Oh no, Mr. Simmons, I’m afraid I’m very serious.” Sydney Glass of the somewhat ironically named Daily Mirror snapped. “This establishment has lost all respectability in the last few weeks. All reliability. I can’t afford to let the people of this town go on thinking that you’re in any way prepared to continue serving them.” 

“We are prepared, Mr. Glass!” Simmons protested. “There’s just been a schedule reshuffle, I’m sure when the manager gets things under control…”

“So you admit things are out of control.” Glass cornered him, hard and it was all Simmons could do not to audibly whimper. 

“No! Damnit. ...why are you doing this to me?” he protested quietly. He tried to meet the newspaper editor’s gaze, but found that the other man was avoiding eye contact. “...I thought we were friends.” he protested. Maybe a little too weakly. He was glad no one else was there to have heard that. Even Donut would try to revoke man points for that pathetic little plea. 

Glass’ jaw tightened and he glared at Simmons. “I’m not sure what gave you that impression. Simmons...you’re the least incompetent employee at what was the least disgusting grocer within a mile of my office. We’ve had some wonderful conversations and yes, I thought I’d do you the courtesy of informing you that our professional relationship has not only changed, but that the nature of this change will be being made public knowledge in the paper.” 

“That’s not news though!” Simmons responded. “That’s an opinion piece! You can’t just publish that you’ve started hating us all of the sudden!” 

“No.” Glass answered “I can’t. But I can publish that you no longer start serving biscuits and gravy until 7AM, despite no official change to the menu. I can publish that you leave your day old baked goods out for sale overnight, and that your kitchen is not up to full health code standards. And, because of the backwards standards of the citizens of this town, most damningly, I can post that when I came in last week I was served instant coffee out of that machine.” he pointed, perhaps a bit melodramatically, to their large coffee maker. 

Simmons glared at the coffee maker for a moment, narrowing his eyes at it and growling “...Grif…” because only one person could possibly be both that lazy and that oblivious to the consequences of his own actions. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Glass stated. “Simmons…” he sounded like he might actually offer a break. There was genuine concern, real, honest feeling in his voice when he asked “what happened to this place?” 

Simmons bit his lip. He knew what he could say. He knew how he could salvage the whole store’s reputation. It would be so simple, it would be the truth. All he had to do was throw Sarge under the bus. Blame the manager, it’d be so easy. It was all his fault, it all traced back to him. The change in hours, the sale that destroyed everything and created the feud that caused the head injures… all he had to do was throw Sarge under the bus. It’d be so fucking easy. So when the words “Nothing happened, Mr. Glass. I’m sorry we haven’t been meeting your expectations and we’ll do better in the future just give us another chance…” 

“I’ve given you three weeks worth of chances, Mr. Simmons. I’m done.” and he turned on his heel to walk away.

All Simmons wanted was to curl up in a ball behind the counter and sob. Instead he kept his eyes on Mr. Glass’ back, watching the whole while for anything, even the slightest indication, that he could change his mind. Offering him something for free, offering him a personal service. Simmons would do literally anything to change this. He couldn’t help but wonder why. What about this place deserved that kind of loyalty? Fuck, what about Sarge had earned that kind of tight lipped loyalty that kept him from spilling all? Glass had integrity, Simmons would never be named as source and Sarge would just blame Grif no matter how much he denied it. 

It was the worst morning of Simmons’ life because it was the morning that he sold his soul for this store and for that man. In that moment, he knew, no matter what he did with his life after this, no matter how many of his eventual life goals he achieved, if he pursued his ambitions flawlessly from this day forward, Simmons would never forgive himself for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters appearing in this Chapter -   
> Damian Wayne - Of course.   
> Sydney Glass from OUaT


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tensions escalate all the way to one of the the two final incidents in this parallel to season 2. ...and also Damian probably eats too much cheap junk food, which has no effect on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for somewhat canon-typical language and ablest slurs.   
> I mean. Tucker vents about, among other things, Caboose, in this chapter. Some awful things get said.

That kid was fucking annoying. 

Tucker couldn’t decide if he acted like he was five or acted like he was forty but whichever way it went, he got along with Tex. Which alone meant he was probably going to be a nightmare. Why Tex liked the little delinquent brat, Tucker didn’t know. How long could you live in an area without being enrolled in school before you were officially a delinquent? 

The worst part was that he was fucking scary too. Like, cold, dead, murder eyes scary. Tucker had never wanted to see Caboose so badly because at least when Church and Caboose got here it would mean that Tex was leaving and she’d take her bratty little gremlin with her. At least he bought shit. Every twenty or thirty minutes he’d buy something small and snack on it. Mostly he just stood there. Tucker half wanted to hand the kid a fucking mop or something at least. 

They were talking pressure points now. He didn’t want to know how either of them knew so fucking much about pressure points. Tex actually knew what the damn spots were called, and Damian made shitty jokes about times kids’ literary heroes should’ve used them to solve their problems instead of actually being kids’ literary heroes. Tex thought his shitty jokes were actually funny, or at least pretended she did. Tucker wanted to knock their heads together until they were both unconscious and preferably bleeding heavily. 

Then everything changed. It was afternoon, still early. Maybe right about one? Tucker was half considering taking his lunch break, but he also was thinking of pushing that so he could put it right up against Tex getting her ass, and by extension, the ass, out of here. 

For a split second, Tucker just thought Church was early. Except that wasn’t Church. Probably a relative, their faces were similar enough. He carried himself way differently. Stronger, wider stride. Not to mention the way Tex reacted to him, moving around from behind the counter and blocking his way farther into the store. Damian started to move forward and without warning Tex snapped “Tucker, Take Damian and go out back, now.” her tone was sharp, a harsh and sudden order. Protective, angry, fuck even a little bit afraid. 

Tucker wasn’t really an obeying orders kind of guy. He listened to his parents and sometimes grandparents or an aunt and occasionally to a teacher or something. He didn’t even like Damian, much less feel any sort of protective toward him. In fact, if whoever had just walked in the door was actually dangerous, Tucker’s impulse was actually to throw the kid at him, grab Tex and run. Except Tex had straight up planted herself and given an order and Tucker found his body moving to obey even though he’d really rather not. “C’mon, kid, let’s…” 

“Take it easy, Tex.” The voice resonated through the room, deep and a little bit frightening. Tucker froze in his steps, leaving an easy opening for the dumb kid to push right past him. “I’m not here for you.” a beat, filled with a tension thick enough Tucker wanted to puke “Or to cause trouble of any kind.” the man continued, then he glanced between Tucker and Damian and Tucker could see the difference between him and Church clear as day. Sure, facial features, whatever, Church was generally rounder and softer with taller features but that wasn’t the big difference since that was artist subtle. The big difference was their eyes. Locking eyes with this man scared the shit out of Tucker, and was gut droppingly familiar at the same time. He’d seen that look before. Not quite like that but...that kind of insanity. Not so severe, but fuck if he didn’t recognize it. 

“Damian.” Tucker hissed in the lowest whisper he could manage, reaching out just slightly. “Let’s go.” 

Except despite the severity of Tex’s order and the obvious insanity of whoever had just walked in this kid, this idiot asshole kid had no interest in leaving. Instead he walked right up beside Tex and asked “So what are you here for?” Brash little idiot was going to get himself killed and Tucker couldn’t actually bring himself to care. 

Tucker did care about the answer to his question though. In that way you care about things that you saw coming but didn’t know and wished with more of your being then you were willing to admit to that you’d been wrong. Because whoever the fuck this asshole was answered simply “I’m here to see Caboose.” 

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Tucker considered just walking away on his own, but he had a feeling that was a good way to get himself on Tex’s shit list. Given that the last person to get themselves particularly high on that list still had some nasty facial scarring and apparently needed some fancy eye surgery that Tucker knew he couldn’t afford meant that he was staying exactly where he’d been put until and unless Damian came with him. “Caboose.” Tex was speaking slowly, deliberately. Her voice wasn’t betraying surprise really but Tucker could still feel the shock resonating in the air. “...isn’t. Here. And even if he were, you should stay away from him.” 

The man laughed, a low, growling sort of laugh. It was easily the most unpleasant sound Tucker had ever heard and he’d dated chicks that snored. “Caboose is something of a friend of mine, Tex. I understand you came to find our friendship...unsatisfactory. And I regret that.” He sounded smooth. Tucker was pretty sure that whoever this guy was, he probably got lots of chicks. The thought that sent a chill down his spine was the fact that something about him just screamed that he was probably the kind of guy that murdered them afterwards. “But you can’t dictate who your co workers befriend. ...and unless you plan to outright refuse service to me you should really let me into the store.” 

“You are being really unprofessional, Tex…” Damian piped up. Tucker wanted to literally step on the squirt. 

In fact, he was just done. “That’s it.” he said after a moment, walking up and reaching for the kids shoulder. “Let’s get out of here you little…” he was treated to a vice grip on his hand and a twist. Wrong direction. Damian didn’t even rotate his arm as far as Tucker would have if he were trying to hurt someone like this. Still, it hurt like hell though. 

Tucker yelped and pulled away hard. Damian glared and growled at him “Don’t touch me.” then looked up at the stranger that Tex was getting in the way of. “If you’re here to visit your friend, you can come back after two.” he looked up at Tex and confirmed “that’s when you said you get off work, right?” 

Tex stepped aside. A single motion, just a little sidestep and she was leaning heavily on the counter. She looked heavier than Tucker had ever seen her. She usually looked hot, but suddenly every inch of her seemed to sag. It wasn’t like she didn’t look hot anymore, she just looked kinda old all of the sudden. Exhausted. He’d never seen her like that before, never even imagined she could look like that. So he stepped up. “Dude...I don’t know what her problem is...but...if you’re here to shop, get what you want and go and otherwise? I dunno. Caboose works nights. Come back then.” 

The look Tex gave him. He thought he’d done the right thing. Chivalrus, even. Stepped up and defended her to the scary bastard. So now, for some reason, she was glaring at him like he’d done something wrong? Crazy bitch. Of course, whatever had just happened did earn that weird little chuckle thing. The evil laugh. So maybe Tucker had done something wrong after all, but he couldn’t think of what. 

“Alright.” Caboose’s evil friend said “I’ll go. See you tonight.” he Tucker wasn’t sure who he thought he was talking to, but a chill went straight down his spine. 

Once the man had turned, walked out the door, was down the steps and safely out of what Tucker thought of as natural hearing range, he asked “...was that a threat?” perhaps a little more meekly then he ought to have sounded. Then Tex didn’t look saggy anymore. In fact, she looked taller than him. Which, she wasn’t, was she? She closed space between them in a step and a half and Tucker scrambled backwards with a sudden “oh god please don’t hurt me.” that was probably the most pathetic thing to have ever come out of his mouth. She looked terrifying and as she advanced while he retreated she honestly looked capable of murder. The knowledge that the poor bastard next door had needed eye surgery, almost died, and had permanent facial scarring sent Tucker retreating all the way until his back was against the farthest freezer in the front room. The one, he remembered, unbidden, Church had made him completely clean top to bottom the day of Flowers’ funeral. For a split second, seeing the rage in Tex’s eyes and worse, hearing the positively psychotic giggle of the little fucking demon child she kept around all of the sudden had Tucker half convinced he was going to die in that same damn freezer. 

“Why did you invite him back here?” Tex demanded, shouting in his face. 

“Wha…” Tucker was confused “I...invited him back here after both of us left, babe. Night shift. You’re gone by two. He’s not gonna hurt you.” 

Tex’s arm was up in a flash and her hand was flat against his skin. The smack resounded through the store and the sting of the slap shocked his entire being. Even more shocking though was the fact that not only was his head still on his body, but he still had full hearing in that ear, vision in that eye, and all teeth on that side of his head. She must’ve held back or something. In fact, judging from how she twitched like she just wanted to keep hitting him, yeah, he’d say she held back. It hurt like a bitch though. “That asshole is probably the one who convinced Caboose to shoot Sarge!” she snapped and Tucker blinked a few times, just to be sure that his initial assessment of all senses still in play and all teeth intact was accurate. He shook his head a little bit to clear it and she asked “Do you understand me? He’s not Caboose’s friend. He’s…” she trailed off. 

“He’s what?” Tucker asked, confused more than anything about how a woman, or anyone for that matter, could be so fucking terrifying and violent one minute and so...muted and frightened the next. She was shaking, probably with rage. Maybe with fear though, whatever it was something about that man had made her unsteady. Which, awesome. Violently unstable coworker from corporate was now nervous and unsteady. And she hit him for standing up for her. “Fuck this. Go do paperwork or something, or take the rest of the day off. Okay?” 

Tex sighed through her nose and stared at him disbelievingly. “You can’t send me home.” 

“You fucking hit me in front of a customer!” Tucker snapped. “And you’re out on bail for assault. I could call the fucking cops on you if it wouldn’t make me look like a pussy. I sure as hell can send you home.” his voice was surprisingly steady. Sure it was pitched a little higher than he liked but hey, she smacked him in the face he had a right to be mad. 

“Oh.” The kid piped up. Tucker just wanted to smash his face. Preferably with something made of metal. “So I’m a customer now? You haven’t been treating me like that all day.” 

“Yeah, well that’s because you’ve been acting more like a cockroach then a human being all fucking morning.” Tucker blurted. “Just hanging around and we can’t fucking get rid of you because you don’t listen to anybody and you’ll try to break my arm if I so much as try to get you out of the line of fire when mommy psycho bitch gets ready to throw down!” he sighed heavily and looked back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t know what’s wrong with either of you...but you are easily the two most fucked up human beings I’ve met in my life, okay?” He paused for a second and said “Let’s put this in context. Church worked sixteen hour days seven days a week out of some misguided sense of loyalty to a place that won’t even give us weekends, and when he hires someone to take the pressure off it’s a retard who can’t process sarcasm worth shit and ends up hitting him with a fucking truck! Oh yeah...and the manager of the shithole next door? Makes everybody call him SARGE! God only knows what cracked that pot. Hell, sometimes I’m not even sure God knows!” Tucker hadn’t even realized he was ranting until he was finished, breathing heavily. Then he blinked, stared at them for a few minutes and decided “...you know what...fuck this. I’m going home.” and he pushed past Tex. It was probably a really bad idea to shoulder check her, and as tempting as it was he didn’t. He swung his own damn shoulder out of the way like a gentleman and walked past her. 

He didn’t even try to step on the kid on his way out the door.

\-----

Damian had been gone all day, and Dick didn’t think too much of it. He was independent, too old for his age in a lot of ways. He needed, absolutely needed to be in school. Not because he actually had anything to learn from a public education system that he couldn’t learn on his own with textbooks and motivation. Damian needed to be in school so that he could learn how to act like a person. He was something else most of the time, something both more and less than human. The terrors he’d suffered had shaped him into a weapon, and Dick would do anything to reverse that and make him just be a child. Even if he kept his damned superiority complex and never gained a single real social grace, Dick wanted that for the boy more then anything. A sense of personhood that extended beyond his abilities or his understanding. One moment of carefree play would be worth the world. 

He wondered how close Bruce had gotten to giving that to Damian. If he’d ever get any closer. If it were even possible. If he’d even tried. 

Blood Gulch Police Department was small, only a handful of officers. Most of whom had their jobs largely out of some combination of nepotism and corruption. The Sheriff’s Office had a good man in it, or at least he seemed to be. Dick had an uncomfortable feeling that all was not what it seemed with Sheriff Graham but that would have to be explored another time. 

On his break, Dick checked the small handful of places Damian might be. The roofs of the only multi floor buildings in Blood Gulch, the hill a mile back from their house. Then he tried the mini mart. Not the one that made sense to go to, the one Damian had arbitrarily decided was nicer. On A street. It had only taken twenty minutes because Dick hadn’t bothered to take their argument from the night before into consideration. Sure enough though, Damian was here. “He has the right to spend time here though.” Damian was arguing, which was a little bizarre. He didn’t usually take the freedom of movement position for anyone but himself.

“He’s a violent criminal, Damian.” A woman explained. 

“So are you.” Damian fired back and Dick froze on the steps just outside the door, listening. 

“He’s not welcome in my life, or in the lives of my friends.” the woman pressed. “As someone who knows him, I’d advise you keep him out of your life too. He’ll either manipulate you, or take the fact that he can’t out on the people around you.” 

“I don’t like being underestimated, Tex.” Damian growled. 

Dick peered through the doorway, leaning in slightly before asking “Is...this a bad time?” 

“Yes.” Damian answered without a beat. 

“Don’t be rude to my customers.” The woman lectured.

Damian rolled your eyes. “He’s not your customer, he’s my guardian. Tex, this is Dick. Dick, Tex.” 

The woman eyed him for a moment, then commented “I’m not sure if I’m hoping that’s actually your name or not.” 

“It is.” Dick confirmed, offering his hand. “Dick Grayson. And yours?”

She shook it. “As close to my name as you’ll ever know.” 

Defensive. No wonder they were arguing. Still, he understood more or less. “That’s fine. Has Damian been here all day?” 

“Pretty much.” Tex confirmed. “He’s a good kid. Tried to drink some coffee...tried to stab me with a pen...we worked it out for the most part.” 

Dick turned to look at Damian, who at least had the grace to pretend to cringe. “...she intimidated another customer into leaving and slapped her co worker. We’re like peas in a pod.” 

“I see…” Dick responded, a little warily, glancing between the two of them uncertainly. “You do know that you can’t just hang out here every day, Damian.”

“I know.” he responded. “Tex...talked some sense into me about school. It’ll be boring, but I’ll go.” Dick looked up in surprise and Tex smiled, at first warmly. The warmth faded when Damian continued “now help me talk some sense into her about how to treat people you have violent histories with.” and suddenly Tex was glaring at Damian again.

“Avoidance, usually.” Dick responded quickly. It wasn’t totally true, but close enough.

“Thank you!” Tex said, pointedly. 

“Except she went for confrontation.” Damian insisted. “And now is trying to keep other people away from him too.” 

Dick could tell Damian wanted him to come down on his side. He just wasn’t totally sure he understood Damian’s side. “Damian…” Dick began. “if Tex thinks someone is dangerous it’s...commendable...she’d want to protect you from them.” he glanced back at Tex as he spoke and looked away again suddenly. Damian looked half eagerly between them. Dick’s stomach dropped. The little asshole was playing matchmaker. Dick closed his eyes, exhaled just slowly enough that hopefully she wouldn’t read it as the sigh he actually wanted it to be. Then he turned to her and asked “but, if someone is harassing you, Tex, I can help you out.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Tex responded. “Just...keep your kid away from him. That’s all I ask.” 

Dick had to admit to a certain curiosity. “Do you mind if I ask why?” 

“Because he’s a violently manipulative piece of shit and your kid has the kind of anger issues that he’d eat for breakfast?” Tex answered seriously. 

That was certainly a good reason. Damian didn’t need exposure to anyone who would reverse the progress made on his anger issues. “Tell me a little more about this guy, so I can keep an eye out for him?” 

\---

 

Damian was something of an immovable object when he wanted to be. So Dick left him at Blood Gulch Blues and went to hang out in the alley out back. Tex wasn’t willing to open up too much about her history, or give a lot of details about this O’Malley character. All he had was a description and some vague, menacing warnings and far off gazing that suggested deep seated trauma. 

Tex had left work at two, and Damian was still inside. One of the other employees, a lanky man with dark circles under his eyes had come outside to ask “is that your kid?” 

Dick had indicated in the positive and a short conversation later, the man went back inside and left Dick alone to wait for Damian to get bored and wait out his stubbornness. Tex wasn’t even there anymore so he didn’t even know what Damian was doing. Besides eating his entire allowance, probably literally. He was going to be so sick. 

Then something unexpected happened. Dick noticed the hands over the fence that ran along the alley significantly later than he should have. Less than a second before the reddish brown vans sneaker hooked over the edge and caught hard, pulling a heavy body that lifted not entirely smoothly and dropped. Dick was surprised he could already recognize his childhood friend from behind, and was subtly impressed that Grif was able to land that easily on his feet. He had a lot of body mass behind him and he made that jump in just a few seconds. Sure, longer then it would take Dick, but then Grif was both larger and significantly less trained in nearly every respect. 

“Grif?”

The other man startled and spun around. “Jesus, Grayson, don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

Dick snorted. “I wasn’t doing any sneaking.” he protested. “You’re the one who hopped the fence.” Grif tilted his head as if to give the point, then Dick added “Why did you hop the fence anyway?” 

Grif shrugged. “I usually park on the access road and hang out back here for an hour or two before work. Especially now that I’m down to six hour shifts mostly.” he paused and added “It’s better when I work closing...the extra hour looks good on the paycheck but...can fuck with my head.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and Dick felt a sudden rush of disappointment in his childhood friend. Grif offered one and Dick declined with a gesture. Then Grif took a position at a respectful distance and lit his, inhaling deeply and blowing back toward the fence. 

“You smoke?” Dick tried to sound nonjudgemental, he really did. 

Grif chuckled. “You’re surprised?” he asked. “Grayson, I was always a ticking time bomb of bad habits. I’ve just graduated to more adult ones.” 

“You stick to the legal ones I hope.” 

“I keep myself safe.” Grif responded quickly enough. Dick studied him a moment and Grif laughed. “C’mon, Grayson, you’re a cop. I’m not dumb.” 

Dick shook his head. “You’re kinda an idiot, aren’t you, Grif?” he asked affectionately, smiling. “You should’ve just said you stuck to the legal stuff.” 

Grif rolled his eyes and took another drag from his cigarette, then asked “So what are you doing back here?” 

Dick sighed and crossed his arms, pacing slightly. “Damian...my...um, my ward. That’s still weird to say. He’s in Blood Gulch Blues. For some reason he decided to hang out there today. I’m...waiting for him. Making sure he doesn’t get into trouble.” 

“I know that feeling.” Grif responded, amused. “You remember how crazy my sister is, right?” 

“Vaguely.” Dick answered. “She was just a baby, right?” 

“She was almost six.” Grif corrected.

That didn’t add up. With the barley verbal and yet seemingly unable to stop talking little ball of over excited energy that Dick remembered. In fact, for all the extended conversations he remembered with his friend, nights on the grass under the stars talking about everything and nothing and running around together arguing the pros and cons of various circus foods...he couldn’t coherently remember a word the tag along little sister had ever said. “Really? She seemed younger.” 

“That’s because she…” Grif paused, then asked “How do I put this kindly?” he considered a moment, then sighed “fuck putting it kindly. She’s dumb as bricks and probably brain damaged four or five times over because she’s the world's biggest klutz. She’s been held back three times, twice because she just flunked out and once because she was in the hospital for a month.” Dick winced, and Grif did too. “Sorry...didn’t mean to start...venting. I don’t think you have anything to worry about with your kid though. Their guys treat our guys like shit but they’re pretty good with kids I think. There’s this one boy who buys donuts there every day...sweetest human being on the fucking planet.” 

“He tried to stab one of the employees with a pen and later on she slapped her co worker.” Dick repeated from Damian’s report earlier that day. 

Grif paused, then decided “Yeah, okay. Maybe there’s good reason to worry. I mean he’s what...ten?” Dick nodded , “can’t you just throw him over your shoulder and make him come home?” 

“I actually talked with one of the guys from there. The one in the back brace?” 

“You mean the one who got hit by a truck.” Grif corrected.

Dick sighed heavily. “I...what is this place?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“Nowhere good.” Grif answered. “You should run far, far away if you value your sanity.” 

Dick shook his head and continued. “Anyway. He came out here and asked the same question basically. I had to explain that Damian would fight back and I’d have to use enough force to get Child Protective Services called on me.” he shrugged. “Damian is...really good at forcing my hand.” 

Grif frowned at him. “That doesn’t sound good. I mean...he’s ten. He’s not...he shouldn’t be making his own life decisions.” 

“Weren’t you making your own life decisions when we were ten?” Dick asked, mostly teasing. 

Grif laughed. “What, would you rather my mom have been making them?” he asked sarcastically. Then “Sorry. I don’t mean to be intruding on your life or telling you how to be a parent. Just...you look like a total stress case, Grayson. And stress case cops scare me. Besides. I keep hoping you turned out okay. After...everything.” 

Grif was tiptoeing around it. Dick couldn’t blame him. “After I lost my family.” Dick stated simply.

Grif nodded and stepped toward him. “I...we were never told exactly what happened. If I hadn’t seen them put you in that car I’d have thought you were dead too.” 

Dick startled. He hadn’t known it was kept under such tight wraps internally. He thought everyone knew. “...wow. I… I’m sorry, Grif.” 

Grif shook his head. “Don’t be. You’re the one who lost everything. I’m just...really glad you turned out...” he paused, then redirected the thought “y’know I’m really over this subject. I’m not a therapist so…” 

“Understood. Wasn’t going there anyway.” Dick agreed, both metaphorically and literally backing off as Grif took another drag from his cigarette and was somewhat less polite with where he blew the smoke this time. Then he asked “Is it too therapist of me to ask why you started smoking?” 

“Seven day workweeks. Use to be eight hours a day.” Grif answered. “Boss hates me, and my only co-worker was a total kissass who would sooner throw me under a bus then have an actually entertaining conversation with me. Oh. And my sister realized we lived less than an hour from a college town and learned how to hitchhike.” 

Dick considered this for a moment and concluded “Those...are surprisingly valid reasons. Still. I wish there was a way that you could deal with your stress that wouldn’t probably give you cancer.” 

“Cancer sounds like a problem for future me.” Grif responded mostly jokingly, but he did move to put out, and put away his cigarette. “I don’t actually smoke that much, honestly. One, maybe two a day except for when things get bad. Cigarettes, not packs. They’re fucking expensive so I’m stingy with myself unless the world is going to hell. Which has been more than usual lately.” He paused, then admitted “...yeah, I’ve been smoking more than normal lately. But, we decided nobody’s a therapist here.” 

“Nobody’s a therapist.” Dick agreed.

“Oh hey guys!” a third voice cut in with a sing song tone, drawing out the third word into significantly more syllables than necessary. 

Grif groaned loudly and said in a voice just above a whisper “Which somebody needs to explain to this loser.” 

Dick looked up to see the co worker from the night before approach them. He had a wide smile and a long, swinging gait that only took a few strides to bring him directly between them. Dick avoided eye contact. Damian trying to set him up with a hardened and angry woman, a flamboyant man literally right next door to that same woman practically shamelessly flirting with him. It only now occurred to him that Damian’s new best friend was probably the one who gave Donut his burn scars. Dick’s stomach dropped. “Sarge is getting off work soon so he said for me to take a break now so Grif wouldn’t go unsupervised until absolutely necessary. Can you believe it? I feel like I got a promotion!” It was insensitive, but well meaning. He was enthusiastic and endearing and Dick could completely understand why Grif was so annoyed by him. Still, if someone brutal enough to hurt him that badly, Dick really was trying not to stare at his scar, he was...if someone so brutal was as worried as Tex was about this O’Malley person… honestly it was all Dick could do to not just march Donut directly into Blood Gulch Blues and use him as an object lesson for Damian. 

“Congratulations? I guess?” Dick offered, questioningly, shooting apologetic glances to Grif who rolled his eyes heavily.

“Aww, thank you!” Donut enthused. “You’re really sweet, Detective.” 

He stepped closer, and Dick stepped away. He wasn’t looking. He was putting himself out there far enough reconnecting with Grif. It wasn’t forever, Dick had no intention of spending the rest of his life alone. Just for the moment, fresh grief that some twistedly bright part of him still dared to hope might be proven false and a child who was more weapon than child… if his teenage years had taught him anything it was that love takes work. Work that Dick did not have the emotional resources for right now. It wasn’t like either of the options he’d been presented with today were unattractive, it was just they both probably deserved way more then what he’d put on the table for them. Why was he even thinking about this? Oh right. To make himself feel better about the kicked puppy look his fast motion had earned him. Grif, for his part, had moved back toward the fence. “C’mon, Grayson.” he said after a moment. 

Dick went to follow Grif, who was already moving to hop the fence. He felt bad, just ditching Donut like this. It was almost cruel, in a way. Dick was over before Grif, a single smooth motion and launched himself easily several feet out from the fence. There was a car parked on the access road, or rather, across it. Dick walked across and turned standing in front of the parked car. 

He wished he’d stayed exactly where he was. 

Maybe if he’d been there the whole time they would’ve known to stop. 

Grif had started first, but he was bigger. He did it more often, but he was slower, even than Donut. Yes, Donut decided to hop the fence too. On a ten minute break. Dick had to give it to him, the boy was athletic. And hurled himself farther over the fence then Dick had expected, landing farther away right in the middle of the road. Donut took the force of the fall hard, falling into a low crouch with it and standing up with a wide grin. Drawing Dick’s attention, deliberately. He didn’t see Grif hit the ground much closer to the fence, wasn’t aware of his friend moving closer onto the dirt access road. 

He did hear his friend shout “Fuck. MOVE!” and he would never be sure if it was before, or in the same moment as he saw the refrigerated truck moving down the access road toward Blood Gulch Blood Red Blood Gulch. Dick shifted forward and reached and it was a pale hand that caught around his elbow. Not the dark one he’d expected. Dick pulled back anyway, yanking Donut from the path of the truck that seemed to not recognize there was anyone in its path. 

Someone was still in its path though. 

Dick heard more then saw the impact. A solid, wet sounding, sick thud. A groan. Another thud as Grif rolled and hit the ground and the truck just kept moving. Dick lept forward, phone in his hand. He could faintly hear Donut screaming and carrying on, Grif’s name and variations and high pitched choked sobs. Dick was already calling for an ambulance when he saw the trickle of blood from Grifs’ mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters appearing in this chapter -  
> Damian Wayne and Special Guest POV character Dick Grayson!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the final confrontation ends, Church is fed up with bullshit, Donut tells a story that's really a song from a musical in disguise, and the ending isn't really an ending at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This has been a ride. Sitting in my Gdocs since November 30 2015, I've chipped away at making it a little less NaNo-like over time and finally, we're at the end. 
> 
> Let me know if, someday, you think I should pick up where I left off.   
> Who knows? November is right around the corner and this universe pours out of me pretty naturally. Maybe I'll do it all over again this year picking up where I left off. 
> 
> Bonus points if you recognize Donuts story...

Church couldn’t remember the last time a customer had stuck around the store this long. Tex said the kid had been there since just before eight. It was a quarter to six and he was still here. Just in the four hours since Church had gotten to work, he’d bought eight individually wrapped candies from the table by the register, two sodas, three strips of jerky, individually at three different times. Basically every fifteen or twenty minutes he made another purchase so legally he wasn’t loitering and Church couldn’t just kick him out even though his dad or legal guardian or whatever was standing right outside like an idiot. Poor guy. 

He didn’t even know what the kid was sticking around for. Tex had left at two, and apparently the kid had driven Tucker off. Which...was weird because he’d been suspiciously quiet the whole time Church had been working. Like, Caboose was more annoying then the kid. Then again, Caboose was more annoying than most people. The kid was just creepy. He didn’t move like a normal person. He didn’t seem to move at all sometimes. Like he’d just go from being in one place to being somewhere else altogether and never be anywhere inbetween. Like Tex. She’d always been able to pull shit like that too. 

Most disturbing though was that Tex had told him, in a quiet voice, that O’Malley had been here earlier, looking for Caboose. And with the kid here all day, he hadn't been able to talk to her about it. Because O’Malley was not a subject matter for children. Church hoped he wouldn’t be back. Hoped Damian would get bored. Or annoyed. Church had encouraged all of Cabooses’ annoying little habits today. His loud singing while he cleaned, his lack of functional understanding of personal space. Even helping him choose his purchases by pointing out every single option repeatedly and debating them. Church had practically sicked Caboose on the kid and nothing. Damian ignored Caboose like a pro. He may as well not even have been there. Church was almost jealous. 

The worst part was the jumpiness. For hours after Tex left every time someone walked in Church felt his pulse spike until he caught sight of their face. He’d finally gotten over that. He was even starting to be able to pretend the kid wasn’t here. He was leaning forward on the counter, doing a little bit of math for some paperwork he’d attend to when he felt more secure going into the back when a customer walked in. He didn’t jump, didn’t even look at first. He was proud for a moment. Until Caboose greeted “Hey, O’Malley.” and his blood went cold.

“Hello, Caboose.” the voice was nauseatingly familiar. Literally, Church’s stomach turned. Doubly so when the voice continued. “Hello, Leonard.” and a chill dropped down his spine. He looked up to come face to face with easily his least favorite family member.

“Oh. Hey.” he managed to sound casual, or rather, forced casual. A short bark that demonstrated a rough kind of anger. “Good to see you. Omega.” Church was being harsh, pushing. Yes, maybe even trying to establish dominance. It was his goddamn mini mart and he wasn’t going to back down to this psychopath. 

He chuckled, and commented “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that name.” which was a pretty underwhelming response to what Church had hoped would be a bigger power play then that. Maybe he was the only one who still cared. It wasn’t like they’d talked to each other in years. The old group...his family. Church tried not to think about it. O’Malley was staring at him, looking him up and down. “I almost didn’t believe Tex when she told me. You really are as helpless as ever, aren’t you?” 

“I’m not fucking helpless, O’Malley. I’m fine.” Church growled. “There was a misunderstanding, an accident. Then Tex assaulted someone and, I’m guessing it’s your fault, Caboose got the bright idea to even the score with a paintball gun?” 

“I told him to stop letting things get in the way of what he wanted.” O’Malley responded. Then he looked over. “Caboose, did you ever figure out exactly what it was that you wanted?” 

Church looked up too. Caboose stood there, frozen. All eyes on him. Church, O’Malley, even the kid, were all staring at Caboose. For his part, he was frozen. Staring blankly back and forth between the three of them, eyes wide. Church realized then he should have known a long time ago Caboose had been talking to O’Malley. That lost, slightly glazed look. Stuck in his own head. O’Malley did that to people. Church didn’t know if it was just that Caboose was dumb enough he didn’t notice the change or if Church was really that unobservant. Probably a combination of the two. Either way, it sounded like O’Malley was running his oldest game on Caboose. “Really?” Church asked. 

“No…” Caboose admitted. “Not...not exactly.” he sounded ashamed, a little afraid. A student being admonished by a particularly intimidating teacher. Caboose was a student, wasn’t he? A communications major at Sidewinder U. It had never once occurred to Church he’d be vulnerable to O’Malley, had never once occurred to Church he’d be a target for O’Malley. He didn’t even know why. In hindsight, it was a glaring mistake that he felt stupid for not noticing. Caboose was in the exact position to be best used against him and they’d been separated at just the right time. So when Caboose reported somewhat eagerly “I think I’m getting really close though.” Church felt his stomach plummet. Because of course. 

“Caboose.” Church asked. “Did O’Malley have anything to do with you shooting Sarge?” 

“You shot someone?” O’Malley asked in genuine surprise. 

“It was just a paintball gun.” Caboose explained. 

“You’d be in prison if it were more than a paintball gun.” Church stated flatly, pointedly. “So unless what you really want is to go to prison…” 

“No…” Caboose recoiled from Church’s harsh tone and Church felt an odd stab of guilt. He didn’t want to scare Caboose. Well, maybe he did, scare him away from O’Malley. 

“Isn’t that just like you?” O’Malley scolded. “So afraid of consequences. You’ll work yourself to death before you’ll even try to make the world even a little bit better for you. Just take on more and more stress, more and more of the world's problems, completely unable to make change. Paralyzed by your own apathy.” His voice was hard and almost mocking, his words were nothing Church hadn’t heard a million times before. Hell, they were nothing he didn’t say to himself more days than most. 

“Um.” Caboose interjected. 

Shit. “Caboose…” Church warned quietly. “It’s okay…” 

“No.” Caboose answered. “It’s...not. Mr. O’Malley? You said...I should do what I wanted. And...I don’t want...you to talk to Mr. Church like that. Okay?” He’d gone into a meek tone, awkward. Afraid and justifiably so. Church held his breath. 

O’Malley turned, shoulders squaring and faced Caboose. Church felt his stomach sink again. His entire body went heavy and defensive but he was helpless behind the counter. He couldn’t just tell O’Malley to leave. He hadn’t even been able to make a goddamn ten year old leave all day what made him think he could force his psychopathic cousin out of the fucking store? “You want to protect him.” he said simply. 

Caboose nodded, looking away, blushing darkly. Church felt like he was going to die. This was all kinds of fucked up. Caboose commented quietly “I want him to be my best friend.” and Church did a double take because what. The hell? O’Malley had literally used...him...to get to Caboose? “I want to make this store a better store because Church cares about it and so I care about it too and the Red Store is the reason we have to work so hard and don’t get very much back for it. So.” Caboose turned to look at Church then and confessed “That’s why I shot Sarge with a paintball gun. I was hoping that if things were bad enough there, or if they were angry enough with us, that they would close down, and we would be the only store in Blood Gulch.” 

Church was completely floored. He leaned heavily on the counter and was finding it a bit more difficult to breathe. He wouldn’t be surprised if this had been what Omega was going for in the first place. Emotions...hell, people in general, were his weak point. He was Customer Service and he was decent at it because everyone knew he worked in a hell hole and no one expected him to serve with a smile. Caboose was fucking insane, there was no way around it. And O’Malley had hooks in him deep. “Caboose…” Church protested. He shook his head. “...you’re a fucking idiot.” 

Caboose dropped his head and stepped back, turning away as if to return back to work. Not even making an effort to argue or stand up for himself. O’Malley shook his head. “Leonard...I’m not here to hurt you this time.” 

“Then what the fuck are you here for?” Church snapped. “And...can you quit calling me that?” 

“It’s your father’s name one way or the other, Church.” O’Malley snapped. “Maybe you’d get farther in life if you opted to be more like him.” 

“Alright, that’s it.” Church stormed around the counter at O’Malley and found himself stopped short by a hand belonging to someone below his eyeline planted firmly on his gut. 

He looked down and saw Damian standing between himself and O’Malley, a hand out toward either of them. “Tex left me here on the condition there’d be no fighting.” the child said simply. “Somehow, I don’t think that was limited to me.” 

“Seriously, kid?” Church complained, pushing the child’s hand off of his stomach and earning a hard glare that looked like it belonged to someone much more dangerous than a child literally half his size. 

“What’s your name?” O’Malley demanded of Damian, voice hard, but carrying that note of false genuine care that he used to draw in every new follower, every pawn he’d ever used for any purpose. What was worse from the sound of it Damian already had anger issues, and that was what O’Malley manipulated best. The rage of others. 

“Damian.” the kid answered, voice equally hard, and with a more obvious sort of false sincerity. “We met briefly earlier, you’re the man I’ve been being warned about all day.” 

“Warned about?” O’Malley echoed. Then he leaned up a little bit. “Church, you flatter me.” 

“I haven’t said a word about you all day.” Church snapped, moving, slowly, back around the counter. He was glad Damian had stopped the fight, honestly. He would’ve made a move and his cousin would have devastated him. 

“I did.” Tex was back. He didn’t know how much she’d heard or seen but she was there in the doorway. Maybe she’d never even left and had just been circling the block until O’Malley got there. He wouldn’t fucking put it past her. 

O’Malley turned and promptly lit up when he saw her. “Bethany!” he greeted brightly, but he backed away. Shifting into the aisles, positioning the donut stand between himself and Tex. Church didn’t know what he thought that flimsy thing would do to defend him if she decided to start something. He’d seen her in action, hell, he’d trained her for action. “What did you tell the boy about me?” 

Tex stepped in toward him. “That you’re a manipulative psychopath who, just like I told you this afternoon, needs to get the fuck out of my store.” 

“I was invited back tonight.” O’Malley answered. “I wanted to see Caboose.” 

“I appreciate it, Mr. O’Malley…” Caboose piped up after a moment, stepping in, closing space between himself and the man that, stupid, innocent boy he was, he probably still legitimately considered a friend. “But...maybe…” 

That was the moment that everything changed. Tex was braced for conflict, ready to escalate this to violence at a moment's notice. Church knew everything was about to go straight to hell for about five seconds before it actually did, before he even knew why. There was no time to react, he didn’t even know what happened first. Tex started forward, Damian had shifted in, then back again. Caboose cried out and choked and Church himself yelled in protest. All because out of nowhere, O’Malley had his arm tight around Caboose’s throat. A grip that cut off air and pinned him close, a hold that would need just the slightest twist to snap the significantly larger, and significantly less coordinated mans neck. 

“Everyone back off.” O’Malley ordered. “Everyone back the FUCK off and stop telling me what to do!” 

Even Damian winced. Church was absolutely frozen in terror. Caboose. Fuck. Caboose was too, eyes wide as his face went red from lack of oxygen. He was gasping, looked like a fucking goldfish out of water. “Let him go, O’Malley.” Church snapped. “It’s me you want.” 

“My favorite cousin. So fucking arrogant.” O’Malley growled, pulling in tighter. Caboose made a pained noise that used valuable oxygen and his body started to collapse against O’Malleys. He was heavy and O’Malley had to brace to hold him. Church saw Damian move around and deliberately looked away. He looked at Tex. Good kid. For the first fucking time he was relieved to have the kid there. He stared at Tex for a moment, wondering if she saw. She was looking at him too, just as deliberately. Which meant they made eye contact.

Tex wasn’t there. Not really. She was furious. Tex wasn’t really herself when she got this angry. She went somewhere else. She stopped thinking, stopped functioning for anything except kicking someone’s ass. Except she still knew she had to wait until Caboose was safe. O’Malley would murder him, they all knew it. More then that, he could pin it on Tex with relative ease given their respective histories. Tex had been in trouble for pretty much everything they both knew O’Malley had actually done. Although now that O’Malley had an actual record of his own, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy. Still. It wouldn’t stop him, he wasn’t that good and Caboose was still Caboose and Tex needed to be careful. Which was why both of them had to not acknowledge Damians movement. 

Seconds ticked past, both of them looked at O’Malley again and Tex spoke. “Fine. You’re after me. Or us. Or the store. Whatever it is, Caboose has nothing to do with it. Let him go.” 

“Oh Tex...the fact that you’re asking means he has everything to do with it.” O’Malley responded. Caboose was slumped now, entirely unconscious, still completely without air. O’Malley shifted under his weight to tighten his hold. Suffocating him. 

Then Damian struck from behind. It wasn’t a strike anyone could have expected. It was, in fact, literally a low blow. O’Malley was braced low, legs apart, and Damian made a simple move and brought his arm up hard between them. It wasn’t advanced, it wasn’t even all that threatening. Simple, straightforward. It did the job though. O’Malley jolted with pain and Caboose slipped from his arms down his body and to the floor. Despite his cousins cries, Church could still hear the dull thud of Cabooses body landing limply and he rushed forward. 

Damian side-stepped while Tex jumped forward to throw a punch. O’Malley dodged easily despite the fact that Church knew from experience the man had to be in agony. Seriously, that move hurt any man like fuck. Tex had telegraphed that though and O’Malley was the person who she trained with the most closely. Still, if someone had gotten him in the balls like that, Church wasn’t sure he’d be able to move. Then again, O’Malley tended to function on pure blind rage most of the time anyway. Church didn’t follow the rest of the fight that ensued. He half tracked where they were, focused mostly on getting Caboose out of the path of the three psychopaths overhead and making sure he was still alive. Except then Damian called “Don’t move him!” and Church froze while O’Malley practically danced behind him. 

Which was fucking perfect. There was no way it would ever connect. Or rather, he hadn’t imagined it would. He turned, harder then maybe he should have, fist up. He didn’t even have to fake. Something crunched under his hand and his cousin’s head snapped suddenly to the side and the whole room went still. It was the first blow that had properly connected since Damian’s first. The whole room went still. Outside, Church could hear the siren of an ambulance in the near distance. It seemed to be approaching. Church didn’t know what it was for, but the timing couldn’t be better.

After another beat O’Malley looked at him. Church felt himself step back. He didn’t want to. O’Malley smirked at him and worked his jaw for a moment. He nodded once, without a word, and started out the door. Then he stopped and paused, staring at the window for some reason. The ambulance got closer, sirens still going. Right out back on the access road. Convenient as fuck. Whoever was hurt next door? Had damn sure better be prepared to share an ambulance. 

O’Malley pulled something off some flyer on the window, and walked out the door. With him gone, Church was able to move again. He went right to Caboose’s side. “Why the FUCK did you tell me not to move him?” he demanded of the ten year old before asking Tex, who was already kneeling over Caboose “...is he okay?” 

“I…” Damian answered, hesitantly. 

“Damian, go tell the paramedics there’s someone in here too.” Tex instructed. Church looked up. Damian was pale. Trembling even. .He looked terrified. He looked, for the first time all day, like an actual ten year old. Honestly, Church was a little concerned the kid was going to puke. “Damian!” Tex repeated in a sharp bark that Church thought was a little uncalled for. He was about to get up and do it himself. Something had obviously fucked up the poor kid who Church really had no idea why he was feeling sorry for after how obnoxious he’d been all day. Maybe it was seeing a real fight. Or maybe...oh. The kids dad was outside. And he’d already lost a dad. The kid had made eye contact with Tex now, and she said simply and clearly “get the paramedics.” Damian nodded once and bolted out the back door. 

“Why…” Church started to ask.

“Probably worried about spinal compression.” Tex responded. “There was a slim chance of it. Kid should’ve gone for O’Malley’s ears but he’s too damn short. It would’ve given him away before he had a clean shot.” she shook her head. “Probably feels all kinds of guilty and inadequate. God forbid that ambulance is here for Dick.” 

Church was sure he’d understand that eventually. Right now all he had was a distant understanding of the crushing guilt of failure. Mouth dry, stomach turning, he forced out the question “Is Caboose…” 

“Alive.” Tex answered “barley. I have no way to know what kind of damage has been done to his airway, his breathing is really shallow…” she looked up at him. “He needs the paramedics.” 

It wasn’t quite the perfect timing it so often was. The seconds seemed to last forever. Church had time to stand up, to step back. To notice the pain that still cut through his entire being and to remind himself that the person laying on the ground in front of him was technically responsible for that pain. To see the concern etched deep into Tex’s face, to see the slight tremble in her hands. To know that was his fault. Everything O’Malley did was his fault, in a way. Not that that was a healthy way to think of things. It was just long enough for Church to say “I’m sorry.” before the paramedics came in. They started working on Caboose right away. Gave him Oxygen. Got him onto a gurney. “Watch the store.” Church told Tex, like he was going on any errand when he followed them out to the ambulance. 

Damian looked even more like a child outside, arms around Dick’s waist, face buried in his stomach, clutching him for dear life. Dick held Damian like a lifeline. The man may have been crying, he wasn’t sure. Church didn’t look for too long. 

When they loaded Caboose into the ambulance, Church heard an audible gasp from inside. It was the guy who needed the surgery. Donut, or something. “No…” was the follow up comment, spoken in the loudest stage whisper Church had ever heard. 

“Yeah, I’m riding with him.” Church informed a paramedic. 

“Sir, the ambulance is overfull…” 

“I’m riding with them or you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting your job done, do you understand me?” Church threatened, voice raised. He had no more patience for bullshit, he’d been dealing with it all day it was high time he dished some out. 

The ambulance was overfull. Donut wasn’t the patient, he was another passenger. The damn clever one was the patient. The big hawaiian dude. Grif. Unconscious and being buzzed around. Donut was half squished between the gurney and the truck wall, hand clasped in Grifs. His eyes were full and glassy and Church couldn’t stand to meet his gaze. Which was fine because he wasn’t looking at Church ether. He was looking at Caboose. He wasn’t looking anywhere but at Caboose. Church settled in near Caboose’s feet, out of Donut’s line of sight. Away from the work the paramedics had to do on Caboose and Grif as the ambulance roared to life and sirens came back on. 

Not more than five minutes into the trip to Sacred Heart in Sidewinder, Donut’s soft voice carried over the din. “What happened?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” Church returned.

“Delivery truck.” Donut stroked Grifs hand with his thumb. “He...yelled for me to get out of the way but...wasn’t fast enough.” 

Church didn’t ask what they were doing out on the access road when they were expecting a delivery. Those damn truck drivers were notoriously fucked up. Church usually avoided the access road at all costs just in case because delivery times were so fucked. Sure it wasn’t more than three or four trucks a week and it wasn’t like anyone else ever used that road but that didn’t make it safe. After a few beats he found the words to answer Donuts question. “Psycho customer.” 

“Not a psycho employee?” Donut asked bitterly, and Church couldn’t blame him. Not a damn bit. 

Still. If there were ever a time to plant the seed to get him to drop the charges this was it. “No. No uh...she um. She might actually have saved his life.” 

Donut didn’t have a visible reaction in the moment. Church just hoped that the seed took. There was silence for a few moments. Then Donut started talking quietly. “Once upon a time.” Church glanced at him, not entirely sure what was happening. Was...was he telling a story? He swallowed hard and blinked harder, twice. Then a third time. “There was...um. A tailor. A simple tailor in a little village. He was a little old man, and he’d been a tailor for his whole life.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Church deadpanned, interrupting harshly. Donut startled. The look he gave was so wide eyed, so fucking terrified, so exhausted and just...innocent and yeah, okay, kind. Church went silent. 

Donut answered the question anyway. “I’m telling a story.” he said quietly. “...because I can’t think of anything to say but I want them to hear my voice so they know where to come back to.” Church couldn’t argue with that logic. Hell, part of him wanted to hug the poor guy. He looked like he was seriously falling apart. Probably was. A scar like that had to fuck with someones self esteem, if they even had any after a lifetime carrying around a name like Donut and and then this happened. 

Donut took a deep breath and continued “This little old tailor would work late every night, until after dark. Then he’d be up early every single morning, and work before dawn. Hemming and pinning and stitching. Every single day for forty-one years he worked and worked on...shirts, and pants and...repairs. He did the mending for the entire town day in and day out for an entire lifetime.” 

Donut’s voice was shaking as he talked. Church was listening. He’d never heard this story before, but it didn’t sound like Donut was just making it up. It sounded like he was trying to remember it. Or, trying to figure out how to phrase it. Church watched the guy, it was a long trip to Sidewinder, even in an ambulance. The story was starting out pretty damn slow though. “One night…” Donut continued, his voice wasn’t getting much stronger. Church wondered if he was nervous about being watched. He looked away. “The Tailor finished his work for the night, and he was closing up his shop for the night when he heard a voice in his shop call out “Schmuel..” Well of course he stopped and looked! Even if his name weren’t Schmuel, which it was, he’d have looked. Because who on earth was in his shop?” 

Okay. That was just weird. Donut’s story was about a workaholic jew? Church looked at him again. This time pointedly. Then again, a name like Church and the fact that he wasn’t exactly what anyone would call practicing in any way or even really kosher there was no way Donut was could possibly have made the connection. He probably didn’t even know the hours Church worked much less about Church’s faith. Or lack thereof. 

“But Schmuel didn’t see anyone. So he tried to lock up his shop again, except he heard it again. “Schmuel.” he heard. He looked again, but his shop was completely clean and empty, but then he heard the voice again asking him to “Speak your wish, Schumel, the wish your heart makes. Every day while you work so hard serving the village…” and as he looked in the shop and listened to the voice he realized that the only thing that could possibly be speaking to him was...the clock! The clock on the shop wall was speaking to him!

Well, Schmuel couldn’t very well disobey a talking clock. So he answered. It wasn’t hard at all. He made the same wish every day. For the last forty-one years he’d made the same wish. “I wish I had time to build the dress that’s in my head. The perfect dress. A dress every girl in the world would look at and want desperately to be the girl wearing it. Alas, I never have the time.” it was a wish that had been heavy on his heart his entire life.

So when the clock told him “Oh Schmuel, you’ll get to be happy! I’ll give you unlimited time!” Schmuel couldn’t believe it! Not for a moment. 

“No, No.” Schmuel said. “It’s not my lot. I’ve got to make due with the time I’ve got.” and he bid the clock and his village goodnight and went to lock the shop for the night yet again.”

Donut had definitely moved into quoting. That rhyme scheme sounded almost musical and Church listened more closely than he imagined he’d listen. He would have to ask Donut what this was from later. It was obviously from something, and that part was probably from a song. 

“The clock called after him “Wait, Not Yet! Schmuel, you are the finest man in Klimovitch!” you see, Klimovitch was the name of the village. “Just make one stitch. See what you can get.” Schmuel tried to protest, the late hour, of the day...the late hour…” Donut stopped abruptly. Church shifted, concerned. “The late hour...of...of his life. He thought he was going crazy, standing there in his shop with a talking clock of all things! But the clock insisted. “Oh Schmuel, you’ll get to be happy! I give you unlimited time! Just do it and you can be happy!” so Schumel gave in and went back inside to try.” 

Okay. For sure it was a song. Church could hear it now. He looked out the window. They were more than halfway to Sidewinder. The Paramedics weren’t buzzing quite so much. Especially not around Caboose. They’d done all they could for him it seemed. It seemed Caboose was sleeping peacefully, oxygen mask over his face. Grif still had the paramedics working on him. Less frantically then before. Maybe he was stabilizing. Maybe they were just at the end of their training. He couldn’t read them He couldn’t ask them because Donut wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Worse, he didn’t have the heart to tell him to shut the fuck up either. Not because he was invested in the damn story. Tailors and talking clocks weren’t his thing, Because Caboose was just the kind of idiot who would follow someone’s voice from the brink if it were that bad. So as much as he wanted to know what was happening...he didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Schmuel pulled down a bolt of his favorite lush, black velvet cloth from the wall. He was skeptical the whole while. But he threaded a needle and sat down with the cloth. And as he started to sew, one stitch at a time, carefully, not meaning anything by it but with that perfect dress a constant thought in the back of his mind. But as he looked back up at the clock he realized that with each stitch he sewed...the clock was moving...backwards!” 

Donut made the reveal dramatically, squeezing Grifs hand hard and gasping the word, then he spoke quickly. “He grabbed the scissors and deep violet lace and began cutting the patterns he knew so well from planning them day in and day out in his mind while he worked on everyone else's mending. He made the vision in his head bit by bit and piece by piece. The clock turned back and back and as Schmuel worked, his hands knowing every stitch, every cut, as if he’d done it before, as the work from his mind took shape in his hands... tears filled his eyes and poured down his face and he cried out “Take me back! Take me back all forty-one years!” and he worked and worked for an endless night until at last, the dress of his dreams was complete, and the sun began to rise.” 

Church let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was shaking, he wanted to interrupt, to ask. He knew it’d be rude, they were still working. It was a good distraction if nothing else. Or at least it had been. “It was princess cut. That Velvet was most of it, but lace ruffles fell all around the queen anne neckline, with ribbons that secured the different layers of lace at the shoulders in matching, brighter shades it was beautiful. Everything he’d ever envisioned. All forty-one years of dreams were sewn into it. Dreams come true.” 

Donuts voice broke again and Church looked at him. His eyes weren’t just glassed over anymore. He was crying. Church wanted to tell himself he was crying over a dumb dress because that...had been annoying. He knew better though. Or at least he hoped he did. Donut sniffled and added “and...according to the newspapers...that dress? Was the very same one a young woman wore when she became engaged to marry the young man who had visited her only just the day before. A young man...named Schmuel.” 

Donut sniffed again, his story over. He hummed softly, a tune that sounded a little bit like the sing-song of some of how he’d pronounced the story and even sang quietly, and somewhat badly “you’ll get to be happy…” as he stroked Grif’s hand. Church wasn’t sure his eyes had at any point left Caboose. 

“That…” Church finally spoke again. He cleared his throat and Donut startled and looked at him. “That’s not a bad story. Where’s it from?” 

Donut smiled a little bit coyly. “A musical.” he answered. 

“Ah.” Church replied. “Thought so. You uh...got a little sing songey there a couple times.” 

“Oh, I just do that sometimes.” Donut admitted.

They arrived at Sacred Heart not too long later. 

Grif and Caboose were both rushed away for Emergency Care, and Church and Donut were shuffled to a waiting room. 

“Do you really think it helped?” Church asked after a while. “Telling them a story? To keep them with us?” 

Donut sighed heavily. “I sort of have to.” he admitted. “Otherwise I was completely helpless and just making a fool of myself, right?” 

Church considered this for a moment. Then he asked “Well...what’s wrong with that? At least you were proving you care.” 

Donut smiled sadly. “I’ve been horrible to all of you, haven’t I? Ever since that bi...that girl hurt me. I haven’t been very neighborly.” 

“Oh, you can call her a bitch. No one cares.” Church offered. Donut still looked guilty though. “Look...I’m sorry for what happened to you, okay? And...I’m sorry for what happened to Grif. And Sarge. You guys...you guys might be having a shittier month then we are. And that’s not...not my fault. So I’m sorry.” 

Donut looked at him for a moment, and Church was worried he was about to start crying again. “Thank you.” he said instead, sincerely, voice rising a sudden octave. “That...that means a lot to me.” 

“Yeah. Don't...don’t mention it. Ever. Really.” 

They lapsed into silence. Donut turned on the television. Church leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, hoping that if he drifted off the nightmares wouldn’t be noticeable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover characters appearing in this chapter
> 
> Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne


End file.
